by Harold Coyle
In tandem with this problem was the loading and securing of the vehicles within the giant transports. Adhering to peacetime regulations the Air Force demanded that the humvees be lashed down to the floor in a manner that made quick and easy egress nearly impossible. "This is an assault landing!" DeWitt kept yelling every time the loadmasters added another tie-down. "We need to get out of your bloody damned planes as quickly as we can once we're on the ground."
To this the Air Force NCOs countered that it would do no one any good if after a transatlantic flight the ramp was dropped only to reveal a jumbled heap of humvees, mangled Rangers, and twisted gear. The loadmaster on DeWitt's transport didn't budge.
"My job is to get you and this airplane there in one piece, ready and able to do a job."
In the end a compromise was struck. At the takeoff and during the majority of the flight the Air Force insisted upon using the prescribed number of tie-downs on each humvee. Only when they were on final approach would all but the absolute minimum number of tie-downs be removed. And to satisfy their guests, the Air Force loadmasters promised that once they were on the ground, they would slash the nylon tie-downs rather than waste time unhooking them. "The sooner I get you people outta here,"
the gruff Air Force master sergeant told DeWitt as he was explaining this plan, "the sooner those people out there have something more interesting to shoot at than my plane."
Bit by bit, issue by issue, all of the problems with this new wrinkle in an ever-changing Fanfare were identified, addressed, and resolved. After the first rehearsal it was decided that all interior lights within the cargo bay would be extinguished twenty minutes prior to landing. Everyone within the cargo bay, to include the loadmasters, would switch to night-vision goggleS
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Five minutes out the pilot would illuminate the red jump light, at which time the loadmaster would crack the rear ramp. As soon as the drivers of the humvees saw this they would crank up their vehicles. During these last tense minutes Air Force personnel located throughout the cargo bay would take up their positions.
The moment they felt the C-17 hit pavement and the pilots begin applying the brakes they would begin cutting the tie-downs as the ramp was lowered the rest of the way. When the pilot of the transport judged his speed to be slow enough, he would hit the green jump light to signal that it was time for Alpha Company to exit the aircraft. In this manner DeWitt found that he could have his entire command on the ground, formed up, and clear of the airfield within minutes. While it was tjue that the road taken to reach this point had not been an easy one in the end, professional soldiers and airmen, common sense, and personal pride managed to overcome each and every hindrance and administrative obstacle that had been thrown their way.
To rehearse the entire sequence and ensure everyone knew the drill cold, the pair of C-17s assigned to haul Alpha Company of the 3rd of the 75th Rangers from Fort Irwin, California, to the outskirts of Damascus had to circle for close to half an hour once they were airborne. Since timing and sequence are everything in combat, taking shortcuts in training or abridging the time between actions is bad policy. DeWitt understood this and very much approved of doing everything here that his company would be expected to do over there.
DeWitt's Rangers took advantage of this interlude to do what soldiers do best when given a chance. They slept. Even before the C-17 Globemasters were airborne everyone who could manage to do so slouched down in his seat or leaned on the man next to him, taking up as comfortable a position as his circumstances would permit. With their arms tightly folded across their chest, Rangers dropped off to sleep with incredible speed. Even the platoon leaders could not help but join their men in capitalizing upon this golden opportunity to repay a sleep debt that was over 318
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drawn. Within minutes only the sound of the aircraft's engines and a few scattered snores could be heard.
Though he would have loved to take advantage of this opportunity to follow suit, DeWitt found he was never quite able to disengage his mind long enough to relax. There were simply too many thoughts, too many concerns rummaging about in his brain housing group. Rather than seeing this interlude as a benefit DeWitt found it to be almost a waste of time. While it was necessary to this harried officer, it was a waste nonetheless. During the entire flight he nervously glanced down at his watch every thirty seconds, as he thought of half a dozen other things that he and his command would do once this exercise was over.
As soon as each rehearsal and training exercise was really over there would be the obligatory head count within each section, squad, platoon, and company to ensure all personnel and equipment were present and accounted for. Then DeWitt would meet with his own officers and senior NCOs to go over what they had just done, pointing out what he had observed and soliciting their comments. Following that he would turn his command over to his XO and head to where the Fort Irwin observers/trainers and the other officers of the battalion were gathering for the formal after-action review. When finished there, Colonel Shaddock would gather his staff and company commanders in his office to reiterate a few key points hit upon in the course of the after-action review, before turning his attention to the training schedule for the next twenty-four hours. After his commander was finished with him DeWitt would run back to his own company orderly room where he would do the same with his unit's leadership who had, in his absence, been overseeing the cleaning and repacking of all weapons and equipment. Once this was done and all questions, outstanding issues, and problems pertaining to the company, its personnel, and its mission had been addressed if time could be found to do so, DeWitt would eat, sleep, and tend to whatever personal needs he could manage to squeeze in before doing it all over again, and again, and again.
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Without warning the bright overhead cargo bay lights flickered on, causing a stir among the slumbering Rangers. Amid a muted chorus of oaths and grumbled threats directed at the unseen hand that had flipped the switch, DeWitt looked about in confusion, wondering if some sort of emergency were in progress.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he found himself waiting for the alarm to sound, warning everyone in the cargo bay of impending doom that the Air Force personnel were struggling to forestall.
DeWitt was still turning this way and that in an effort to figure out what exactly was going on, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Turning, he caught sight of the senior loadmaster standing next to his humvee. Reaching up with his right hand, the Air Force NCO covered his boom mike while leaning over toward DeWitt's ear so he could be heard. "The mission has been aborted."
"Did they say why?"
The loadmaster shook his head. "Negative knowledge, sir.
The pilot just said we were to return to Bicycle Lake ASAP."
"Any orders for me?"
Raising his left index finger, the loadmaster uncovered the boom mike. "Wait one. I'll check." It took a moment for him to relay DeWitt's inquiry and a few more for the pilot to check back with base operations. Finally the loadmaster turned and looked up at DeWitt. "That's a negative, sir."
Unsure what this meant DeWitt looked back at the scores of anxious faces that weFe now directed at him. After taking a minute'to consider how best to deal with this unexpected wrinkle, DeWitt turned back to the loadmaster who had remained standing patiently next to his humvee as the giant C-17 began to make a slow bank. "When we land have your people unleash my vehicle.
Leave the rest in place until I find out what's up. Clear?"
The loadmaster nodded. "Clear, sir."
With all the Land Warrior components and cables still in place and ready for use, Emmett DeWitt made his way through the battal 320
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ion headquarters to Lieutenant Colonel Shaddock's office. He had half expected to walk into the middle of a command and staff meeting. Instead he took note of the staff officers who were patiently waitng outside the batta
lion commander's closed door.
As he approached he tried to read their expressions in an effort to ascertain whether the news awaiting him was good or bad. Unable to tell this from the dispassionate stares that greeted him, DeWitt moved on and entered his colonel's office without knocking.
This sudden intrusion caused little stir among the officers gathered around Shaddock. For his part Shaddock made no effort to acknowledge his Alpha Company commander as he continued to give Robert Delmont his full attention. Without a word, and doing his best to keep from disrupting the ongoing conversation, DeWitt looked about to see who else was in the room. In addition to Major Perry, Major Castalane, and the sergeant major, he spotted the rest of his fellow company commanders seated against the wall, cooling their heels as they waited for the battalion commander to finish up with the colonel from the Pentagon and issue them new orders. Finding an empty chair, DeWitt shifted his gear and joined them.
"The biggest concern that came up during the final briefing with the Sec Def was the back-pedaling by the electronic warfare people," Delmont recounted to Shaddock. "From the start the key to this entire operation has been the Air Force's ability to shut down the Syrians' internal command-and-control system. When Fanfare was just a deception plan this was no problem. Only after it began to look as if they were going to actually execute their portion of the plan did 'serious' issues and concerns begin to crop up. As of this morning they say the best they can hope for is an eighty percent solution."
When Delmont paused, Shaddock grunted. "Eighty percent sounds good to me. We've gone forward on operations with odds that were a lot slimmer than that."
Delmont didn't like the idea of going in with the Syrians only partially defanged, but he kept his counsel.
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Shaddock took note of Delmont's failure to respond. "Do you think that will be a major problem?"
Delmont shrugged. "Perhaps. It all depends on who's wired into the twenty percent of the command structure that's still operational."
"And the Joint Chiefs? Where do they stand?"
It was questions like this that caused liaison officers problems.
Failure on Delmont's part to answer honestly betrayed the trust that he had painstakingly worked to build up with the 3rd of the 75th. Yet to be completely candid with Shaddock would be equally disloyal to his parent organization. In the end the special ops plans officer again opted to say nothing. Of course his silence was all Shaddock needed to hear. '.
After drawing in a deep breath, he turned to face his assembled company commanders, XO, operations officer, and command sergeant major. "Well, sports fans, there you have it." Looking down at his watch Shaddock waited a moment until the sweep hand reached a given point. "On my mark it will be exactly oh-three hundred Zulu. Mark." Looking up, he gazed into the eyes of his assembled officers one by one as he spoke. "Gentlemen, you know what needs to be done. Now, unless there are any questions . . ."
Having come into this meeting after it had been under way for some time DeWitt was at a total loss as to what exactly was going on. Tossing aside any concerns about appearances or making himself look foolish, he stood up. "Sir, I believe I missed some of the meeting. If you don't mind, could you please go over a few of the key points, such as what it is we're supposed to be getting ready for?"
It suddenly dawned on Shaddock that he had been so absorbed with listening to Delmont that he had not taken note of when DeWitt had finally shown up. Having no desire to embarrass himself or the young officer because of this oversight, Shaddock took a moment to frame his answer. "Lieutenant DeWitt, unless We're waved off en route, Fanfare is a go. You and your company have eight hours to sort itself out from its training exercise, swap 322
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your training ammunition for your combat load, refuel your Hummers, recharge the batteries for your Land Warrior systems, and load out. Wheels up is eleven-hundred hours Zulu. If all goes well and no one chokes at the last minute we'll be on the ground in Damascus in exactly twenty-four hours. Any questions?"
As word made its way down the chain of command every member of the 3rd Battalion 75th Rangers threw himself into preparing for an operation that had come to dominate their lives. Weapons that were already immaculate were stripped down, cleaned, and checked for proper function once they were reassembled. Unit equipment, from satellite dishes to surgical kits, was inspected, packed, and rigged for airdrop. Individuals were issued ammunition, drew rations, and filled their canteens with fresh American water before carefully stowing each and every item they would carry into battle in a pocket, pouch, or carrier from which they could retrieve it as needed. Specialists such as radiomen had the additional requirement to report to the battalion comms section to draw their copies of the communications and electronics operating instructions that they would be using during the course of Fanfare.
At the center of all this flurry of activity were the company grade officers and junior NCOs. Like the Rangers who made up their squads, sections, platoons, and companies, each and every sergeant, lieutenant, and captain needed to tend to his own individual weapons, equipment, and rations. But they were also responsible for ensuring that their people were ready. In an elite unit such as the Rangers where the individuals are generally more motivated and self-reliant than the average American soldier, the amount of oversight is minimal. Yet constant review is still necessary.
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member of the 3rd of the 75th understood this philosophy, and though they would never admit it to anyone, most were glad that there was someone watching over them, making sure that in their excited state they did not overlook an important item or forget to fasten a strap on their parachute harness properly. Besides, as one wag put it, "this was the Army, where soldiers are expected to do soldier things and officers are paid to do officer things."
After unleashing his command of highly trained and motivated soldiers, Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock found that he had precious little to do. All the orders that he needed to be issued had been given. The plans of his company commanders and the annexes added by his primary staff officers that supported the battalion operations order had been reviewed by him again and again and again to ensure that they conformed with his concept of the operation. Every aspect of the operation that could be rehearsed had been repeated under conditions that approximated those they expected to find in Syria. Having done all that he could, center stage now belonged to his officers and NCOs as they went about supervising and checking the soldiers who fell under their direct control
During these final frenzied hours of preparation Shaddock was reduced to the status of figurehead, the acknowledged leader of this collection of crack troops but one who had no real need to exercise either command or control over their current activities.
The fact was, at times like this a senior officer is a hindrance.
Shaddock understood that every time he stopped and spoke to a soldier or asked him to hand over his weapon so that he could inspect it he was keeping that man from doing something else that was critical, like filling his canteen or running over to the ration breakdown point, or checking the batteries in the company commander's radio. They knew exactly what needed to be done.
All they needed was the freedom and the time with which to do it.
Still, as much as company commanders and squad leaders would have liked him to, Shaddock could not simply disappear 324
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during this crucial period. He had to be seen by his men. Even in the day of high-tech, precision-guided munitions, ground soldiers needed to be physically led into battle. All the computer chips in the world could not replace this function of the officer. Shaddock's men had grown used to seeing him in garrison and during every aspect of their training. Now as th
ey prepared to venture into harm's way they needed to see him. Though many military men have tried over the centuries to do away with this symbolic practice, again and again combat commanders have found that there was no substitute in battle for the same sort of commanding and heroic figure that the Spartan King had immortalized at Thermopolae. Like Leonidas, Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock was more than an officer in the United States Army. By virtue of his position he had become a talisman, a good luck charm that satisfied the primeval needs of the world's most sophisticated warriors. They might not understand the logic of their mission. They might not be motivated by old-fashioned patriotism. Yet there was not a soul among the soldiers of the 3rd of the 75th who did not feel a sense of loyalty to Harry Shaddock, a man who had become something between an icon and a father figure to men raised in a society in which manhood was sometimes viewed as a curse.
With no firm plan in mind Shaddock made his way from one unit assembly point to another, showing the flag while looking for something constructive to do. Like his company commanders he was responsible for overseeing the activities of his command as well as making himself available just in case some glitch cropped up at this late stage that required his personal intervention. Yet no matter how hard he searched for a situation that cried out for his attention he found no problems he needed to untangle. Nor did he come across any harried staff officer crying out for salvation.
Like Diogenes wandering through the darkness in search of an honest man, Shaddock was reduced to going from one group of soldiers to another in a vain quest to find fulfillment.
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In the midst of this meandering quest Shaddock came across the pair of lieutenant colonels who had attached themselves to the 3rd of the 75th during their tenure at Fort Irwin. From the looks on their faces he could tell that both Neil Kaplan and Robert Delmont desired a moment of his time. Raising his head and straightening himself up, Shaddock slipped into his battalion commander persona. "Well," he announced with far more enthusiasm than he felt, "in a few more hours we'll be ready to rock and roll."