Trial by fire: a novel

by Harold Coyle

  For example, GREEN ONE-i included only the two active-duty brigades of the 16th Armored Division. GREEN ONE-2 required three brigades, with the third brigade being the 173rd Infantry Brigade from Fort Benning, Georgia. GREEN ONE-3, also calling for three brigades, required the mobilization and deployment of the 16th Armored Division's National Guard round-out brigade from Mississippi.

  While it was the responsibility of the G3 plans section to draft all the plans and their various permutations, based on the division commander's general concept of operations and Dixon's specific instructions, Dixon had to ensure that the plans were complete, made sense, and had been coordinated with the other staff sections. This was not easy, especially when Dixon often found the intelligence estimates upon which the plans were based wanting. Unable to gather their own information, the G2

  intelligence section of the division depended on the intelligence estimates provided by the XIX Corps G2 section. These estimates, in turn, were based upon those produced by national-level agencies, namely the CIA and the DIA, whose products Dixon had good reason to suspect. Using those estimates for the creation of operational war plans was, as Dixon pointed out on numerous occasions, like building a house on a dung heap.

  Still, until those estimates changed, they were all he had to work with.

  Dixon, scheduled to brief the concept of GREEN plans to a group of visiting congressmen and their staffers that afternoon, needed to refresh his knowledge and make notes for the briefing. Under normal circumstances, he would have spent little if any time preparing for a congressional delegation. Ordinarily, few, if any, of the members of the delegation would have had any real conception of what was being dis cussed. Today, however, Congressman Ed Lewis of Tennessee would be present. Lewis, a veteran and a member of the House Intelligence Committee, knew his stuff. Dixon wouldn't be able to hip-shoot with him in the audience.

  With his feet up on the table, his coffee cup in one hand, the green loose-leaf binder in his lap, the map board showing the operational graphics before him, and the slides to one side, Dixon prepared himself for the briefing.

  Officers and Civilians' Open Mess, Fort Hood, Texas 1845 hours, 11 August

  Jan had so seldom come onto post that she had needed to stop for directions three times before she found the officers club. Embarrassed at being late, she decided to say nothing about why she was late. Instead, she entered the room where the staff of the 16th Armored Division was gathered, careful not to attract attention while looking for Scott. When she spotted him talking to the division intelligence officer, she maneuvered herself until she was able to approach him from behind. Coming up to his side, she slipped her hand around his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you, Scotty dear."

  Looking over at her, Dixon grinned. He was about to ask if she had gotten lost again when Big Al came up.

  With a loud and sincere welcome, Big Al greeted her. "Well, I see Scott has unshackled you from the stove long enough to come out and join us."

  Towering half a head over Big Al, Jan looked at the general then turned to Dixon. "Scott dear, do we have a stove?'!

  This caused the general to laugh and Dixon to roll his eyes. Grabbing Jan by the arm, Big Al began to escort her away. "You, my dear, will probably dehydrate if you wait for that tombstone of a boyfriend to get you a drink. Come with me and let a dirty old man buy you one."

  "That, sir, would be a pleasure. No doubt Scott has told you I specialize in dirty old men, which is what keeps me going with him."

  Again, the general let out an unabashed laugh. "Scott, this is too much woman to be wasted on a tanker. She deserves an aviator, like me."

  Dixon threw his hands out in mock surrender. "As always, sir, you know best."

  With a smile the general pointed at Dixon. "Damn straight, that's why I'm the general. Now, if you'll excuse us, Colonel, I would like to introduce Jan to some people."

  With Jan gone, Dixon headed for the cash bar. En route, he ran across Captain Cerro, who was carrying two bottles of beer. Dixon stopped and looked at the young officer and the beer in his hands, and raised his eyebrows. "A real two-fisted drinker."

  Cerro looked at the beers, then at Dixon. "Well, no, not actually. One of them is for someone else, but I can't find him right now." Then as an afterthought, he offered one to Dixon. "Here, sir, might as well before it gets warm. I hope you don't mind Corona. I hear tell that's the official drink of the 16th."

  "Actually, I'm a Coors Light man myself, but since division policy states that field grade officers cannot refuse free beer, I couldn't possibly refuse." He took a sip, then held the bottle out at arm's length. "Well, it ain't Coors, but what the hell." Turning back to Cerro, he asked how he was getting on in his new job.

  As Cerro began to talk, recounting an incident of several days ago with one of the female infantry lieutenants, he realized that he had been with the G3 section for over a month, and yet this was only the second time he had had the opportunity to talk to the G3 one on one. It wasn't like Dixon had been hiding. Dixon was always there. In fact, sometimes, it appeared that he was everywhere. Even when he was out inspecting training or at a briefing, his presence still seemed to permeate the offices of the G3

  section. His majors, and he seemed to have a lot of them, referred to him as El Jefe, Spanish for "the leader." He, in turn, referred to them as his Middle-Aged Mutant Ninja Majors.

  The entire section, and how it operated, threatened to cause Cerro to redefine how he viewed staff officers and, in particular, Lieutenant Colonel Scott Dixon. The casual and seemingly relaxed atmosphere that had struck him in the beginning as the sign of a slack organization was, in truth, the outward indication of a well-working machine. It was a machine cast in the image of its creator, Lieutenant Colonel Dixon. Like him, the G3 section always seemed to be in motion, moving forward, in many directions, in a very deliberate and purposeful way. What was most amazing to Cerro was the efficiency of the whole operation. There was little wasted motion. In the month that he had been there, he had heard of only one meeting between the G3 and his majors, and that had lasted less than half an hour. And yet, Dixon seemed to be on top of everything.

  Cerro had watched one day as a parade of officers, both G3 officers and officers from other staff sections, went into and out of Dixon's office.

  Each officer, with a different subject or problem, had filed into Dixon's office, summarized what he needed from the G3, and, in turn, received guidance or new instructions from Dixon. Without skipping a beat, Dixon had listened, considered, decided what needed to be done, and issued his instructions in terms that even a finance officer could understand.

  Cerro had also noticed that Dixon had no patience with people who could not think on their own, were indecisive, or could not keep up with Dixon's physical or intellectual pace. The people in the G3 shop were what someone referred to as high-speed, low-drag majors. Anyone who couldn't hack it, Cerro was told, soon found his way to the door. Though most everyone complained at times about the work load, long hours, and Dixon's treatment of them, they knew they were learning from a master and, when their time came, that they would be rewarded with a choice assignment in a troop unit somewhere in the division.

  As he talked with Cerro, Dixon noticed a tall man in a light tan three piece looking over at them. For a moment, he ignored the man's presence and his efforts to attract Dixon's attention. Instead, Dixon continued to listen to Cerro with only an occasional circumspect glance to the tall man in the light tan suit.

  Cerro, seeing Dixon's attention distracted by someone behind him, glanced over his shoulder, then at Dixon, who was making no effort at all to acknowledge the presence of the tall man. Instead, with his face locked in an impassive stare, Dixon continued to pay attention to Cerro. Suddenly, Cerro realized that Dixon was intentionally ignoring the man behind them. He was, in his own way, fucking with the guy, making the stranger choose between being rude and breaking in or giving up and walking away.
Since Cerro had no idea who the man was, he took his cues from Dixon and continued. Dixon, slowly taking a sip of his beer, watched Cerro's eyes and continued to ignore the stranger. The stranger, for his part, was becoming agitated. Cerro, finally, threw the game by turning to the stranger and ending his conversation with Dixon.

  Unable to pretend any longer, Dixon turned to face the stranger. Changing expressions from blank to surprised with well-practiced ease, Dixon acknowledged the man. "Well, Congressman Lewis, how pleasant to see you again. Been here long?"

  Lewis shrugged, pretending to ignore Dixon's attempt to rebuff him.

  "Not long, Colonel."

  Pointing to Cerro, Dixon introduced him. "I'd like you to meet my new acquisition, Captain Harold Cerro, VMI graduate, airborne ranger infantry, and holder of the Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star, and the Purple Heart."

  Knowing that Dixon was also VMI, Lewis saw a chance to pay back Dixon's rebuff. "How'd you earn your Purple Heart, Captain, from one of the female cadets at VMI?"

  For a second, Cerro imagined himself as a helpless infantryman pinned down between the crossfire of two opponents. Unable to figure out how best to respond, he was rescued by Dixon. "Ah, hell, no, Congressman.

  Captain Cerro is a member of the old corps, when men were men and girls were dates."

  A smirk lit Lewis's face. "I see. Now I understand why you have Captain Cerro in charge of the program designed to evaluate the effectiveness of female combat officers."

  Lewis's comment smacked Dixon like a two-by-four. Well, Dixon thought, I should have known better than try to mess with this guy.

  Begrudgingly, he acknowledged that Lewis was too sharp to play games with. Mustering a smile, he took a sip of his beer and asked Lewis what he could do for him.

  "I was hoping to have a word in private with you."

  "Of course." Dismissing Cerro, Dixon escorted Lewis to the patio.

  "What can I do for you, Congressman?"

  Lewis leaned against a table, half sitting on it. "Today, in the briefings, I detected a certain amount of dissatisfaction with both the intelligence summaries coming from the DIA and the war plans you briefed. In fact, you went out of your way to accentuate every negative aspect of the plan. I was, to say the least, quite taken aback by the fact that an officer with your reputation would get your commander to buy into such a gloomy and pessimistic briefing."

  Dixon looked down at his beer, swirled the bottle, and took a sip before answering. For a moment, he tried to come up with an evasive answer, but decided to pass on that idea. It was, after all, hard to bullshit a bullshitter and Lewis, he realized, knew bullshit when he saw it. "Big Al never buys into anything he doesn't want to." Dixon let that comment hang in the air for a moment while he took another sip from his beer.

  Ready, he looked Lewis in the eye. "You're right, I am not at all thrilled with what we have to work with, intelligence wise, that is. Nor am I thrilled with our strategic goals, and when I say strategic, I'm talking about political goals and objectives. I especially don't like the idea that there are people who seriously believe in using the American military to salvage a bankrupt foreign policy."

  Taken aback by Dixon's comments, Lewis paused for a moment before continuing. Though Lewis had used the same arguments, and had, in a different way, said the same thing, Dixon's accusations hit him like a slap in the face. As a member of Congress, and a prominent figure in Washington, he was guilty, through association, of both the good and the bad calls that came from that city.

  Though he wanted to, Dixon fought the urge to smirk. He saw that Lewis was both surprised by his response and somewhat embarrassed.

  The jerk, he thought, had asked for it. Still, he had to remember that Lewis was, after all, a congressman, while Dixon was a there lowly lieutenant colonel. Lewis was the maker and giver of policy, Dixon a simple swordbearer for the realm. He therefore decided to ease off and defuse the tension between them. "Congressman, have you ever studied the Little Big Horn campaign?"

  Relieved that Dixon was changing the subject, Lewis went along.

  "I've read about it, but never really studied it. Why?"

  "In 1875 we had elements in our country who viewed the American Indians as an 'inconvenience' to their plans. Land, and the resources those lands contained, were, in their opinion, wasted on the Indians. In order for the nation to grow, and, oh by the way, to amass a fortune for themselves, these well-meaning advocates of manifest destiny did their best to remove that inconvenience. The motivation they relied on to precipitate action was the unthinking hatred that white America had for the red savages. The tool they used was the U.S. Army."

  Lewis put his hand up. "Okay, Colonel, hold it. Are you saying that today's version of the robber barons are out to start a war and that we are unjustified in defending ourselves?"

  Without skipping a beat, Dixon continued. "No, I am not. I have no reason to believe that anyone in the United States is involved in precipitating this crisis. What I am trying to point out is that there are people, well-meaning people in this case, who are using their influence to apply political pressure on our national leaders to take a course of action that is both ill-advised and could result in embarrassment and disaster."

  "If that is true, Colonel, why are you the first soldier I've heard come out so strongly against such an operation?"

  Dixon looked at his bottle, and gave it a swirl. "There are any number of reasons for not doing so, just as there were many reasons why the U.S.

  Army did what it did in 1876. First, there is the philosophy that we are soldiers and our job is simply to obey. The president and Congress decide national policy, we only execute. You know, the old 'Roger, out, can do'

  attitude."

  "You think that's wrong?"

  "It's not my place to decide right or wrong. It is my duty to point out what is possible and what is not. You see, I happen to believe in the American system. But, having said that, we cannot ignore the dark side of some of the people in the American military." Dixon lifted his beer bottle and used the index finger of the hand holding the bottle to point at Lewis. "You see, Congressman, every time the Army is ordered out, we can justify our existence. Whenever you give us a mission, we salute with one hand and reach out with the other for more funds, since every time the United States is without an enemy or a viable threat, the Army shrivels up into an unimportant and expensive inconvenience. A small Army with no mission means slow promotions and little opportunity for fame and glory."

  "I thought you guys prided yourself in your selfless service and professionalism?"

  Dixon

  laughed. "If you still believe that, I would appreciate it if you went back and looked at recordings of the news broadcasts shot during Just Cause and Desert Storm. More than a few senior commanders and officers took great pains to make themselves available to the television cameras so as to 'help' the American public understand the war. And, when it was over, they sacrificed their military careers, retiring so that they could travel the speaking circuit, for a fee of course. No, Congressman, egos and self-interest do not disappear when you put on a uniform.

  Though Mexico ain't the evil empire Russia used to be, it happens to be the only game in town, for the moment."

  "What's your alternative? Do nothing? Let the raids continue? Surely even you can appreciate that there isn't a single congressman or senator from the southwest who is willing to sit and do nothing in Washington while their constituents are being shot in their own backyards? The demand for direct and effective action is becoming too compelling to ignore.

  That, Colonel, is a political reality."

  Nodding his head, Dixon agreed. "I understand that. Just as Terry did when he left Fort Abraham Lincoln in 1876 to catch the Sioux, and Pershing went to Texas to punish Pancho Villa. We'll go where we are sent and do what we are told. That, however, doesn't mean that it's the right or proper thing to do."

  Lewis grunted. "I see you believe in the Pancho Villa theory."


  "Not necessarily. Though that line of thinking is, in my opinion, the most logical, no one can confirm it. And that, Mr. Congressman, is exactly my point. No one is able to confirm or deny any of the theories concerning the raids along the border. Yet, in spite of this lack of solid evidence, everyone is chomping at the bit, demanding that we commit the Army. What's going to happen, to us and the future of our two countries, if we find out, after all the shooting is over, that we shot the wrong guy?

  My God, sir! Even the most brutal murderer in the United States must have overwhelming and irrefutable evidence brought against him before he is punished. Shouldn't the Mexican people be given the same courtesy?"

  "We

  are not dealing with criminal law here, Colonel Dixon. This is not a nice, clean courtroom in some city far away. We are talking about the real world. Again, let's do a reality check here. We are dealing with politics and national passions. Both of these can be very irrational and uncompromising. When you add fear and coat that fear with liberal quantities of American blood, like the people who are conducting these raids on our borders are doing, logic goes out the window."

  Dixon was about to answer when Jan came up from behind and grabbed his arm. Leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek, she turned to Lewis and smiled. "Scotty sees nothing wrong with our strategy, so long as it includes dinner, soon. Right, dear?"

  Dixon looked at Jan. The look in her eyes and her speech told him she was feeling no pain. Taking her hand from his shoulder, he lifted it to his lips, lightly kissed it, and lowered it halfway. "You, my dear, are drunk."

  Pulling her hand away, Jan protested. "Drunk? I am not drunk, sir.

  Your general's drunk. I'm just hungry, nay, starved. And I demand food, now."

  Amused, Lewis watched for a moment before he cut in. "I had no idea you two were married."

  Seeing a chance to get away from Lewis, Dixon turned to him. "Us, married? No way, Congressman. We just sleep together."