too.”
He handed a card to each of the men. “Boris, read the first principle.”
Boris struggled with the card to see in the moonlight. “Anything that can be seen can be targeted.”
“What does that mean to you?” Sam asked.
“Keep your hindquarters down.”
Laughter broke out.
Sam pointed his finger at him and pretended to fire. “Exactly. That’s why camouflage is so important. With today’s weapons and technology, if the enemy can see you, it’s lights out. Marshall, what’s the second principle?”
Marshall lifted the paper up and strained to see it. His hands shook. Whether from the cold or nerves, Sam couldn’t be sure.
“A-anything t-that can be targeted c-can b-be hit.” Marshall dropped the card to his side and looked at the ground.
“Buster, what does that mean to you?”
Silence.
“Buster?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked you a question. Now answer, or get the hell out of here.”
“Christ, this is chicken shit. It means that if you can target it, you can hit it.”
“You may think this is chicken shit stuff, but I’m trying to save your butt. If you don’t care, that’s your problem. All I can do is guide you. The rest is up to you.” Sam bit his tongue to avoid lashing out any more.
“Jonas, what’s the third principle?”
The tall lanky man’s full head of black hair stuck out in all directions from under his orange hunting cap. His large hands were bare, even in the cold.
“Anything that can be hit can be killed.”
“Those three simple statements became the basis for the Army’s doctrine for years. I will hammer those points at you time and time again until they’re a natural reaction, like taking a piss. Remember them the next time you’re tempted to stick your big head up and look around. Any questions?”
The men looked at Sam and nodded as a group.
“So the bottom line is to keep your fucking heads down.” Sam had kept them outside longer than necessary. They needed to know he was the boss.
He held up a rifle. “This rifle is loaded with paint. When I see your head, I’m gonna hit you. And, if I hit you, you’re gonna drop down and give me twenty pushups. If I hit you a second time, you’re gonna drop down and give me thirty pushups. That chicken shit enough for you, Buster?”
The big man didn’t say anything. He turned his back and stomped away.
“All right. Find some cover. You’ve got thirty seconds. I’ll blow a whistle when the exercise is over.” The men moved off. “And I don’t want to see any heads or fat asses.”
Sam moved quietly through the brush, crouching, staying low to the ground. He circled around to the right, watching shadows moving through the trees. He could hear rustling and waited, hiding behind a tree. When men moved past him, he hit them with the paint. Their curses made them even bigger targets. Sam kept an eye out for Buster and hit him twice.
He made a point to hit Popeye twice. He enjoyed hearing the resulting curses.
Most of the men were experienced in soldiering in the field and learned quickly. The one exception was Marshall. Three times Sam passed up the opportunity to hit him with paint.
He blew his whistle. “All right, men, I’ve kept you longer than planned. Tonight you learned hand and arm signals so you can communicate with one another without noise. This is critical if you’re to own the night.”
Heads nodded.
“Then we discussed cover and camouflage. Some of you got caught and paid a price.” He chuckled. “Any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Throughout the week, we’ll be reviewing hand signals and camouflage procedures when we work with other instruction. These are basic to everything we do.”
He made eye contact with as many men as he could. “That’s enough for tonight. Dismissed.”
Sam walked back into the classroom. He could feel Popeye watching him.
After class, Sam needed to clear his head and think through his plans for the week ahead. He dumped his papers in the
He handed a card to each of the men. “Boris, read the first principle.”
Boris struggled with the card to see in the moonlight. “Anything that can be seen can be targeted.”
“What does that mean to you?” Sam asked.
“Keep your hindquarters down.”
Laughter broke out.
Sam pointed his finger at him and pretended to fire. “Exactly. That’s why camouflage is so important. With today’s weapons and technology, if the enemy can see you, it’s lights out. Marshall, what’s the second principle?”
Marshall lifted the paper up and strained to see it. His hands shook. Whether from the cold or nerves, Sam couldn’t be sure.
“A-anything t-that can be targeted c-can b-be hit.” Marshall dropped the card to his side and looked at the ground.
“Buster, what does that mean to you?”
Silence.
“Buster?”
“Yeah?”
“I asked you a question. Now answer, or get the hell out of here.”
“Christ, this is chicken shit. It means that if you can target it, you can hit it.”
“You may think this is chicken shit stuff, but I’m trying to save your butt. If you don’t care, that’s your problem. All I can do is guide you. The rest is up to you.” Sam bit his tongue to avoid lashing out any more.
“Jonas, what’s the third principle?”
The tall lanky man’s full head of black hair stuck out in all directions from under his orange hunting cap. His large hands were bare, even in the cold.
“Anything that can be hit can be killed.”
“Those three simple statements became the basis for the Army’s doctrine for years. I will hammer those points at you time and time again until they’re a natural reaction, like taking a piss. Remember them the next time you’re tempted to stick your big head up and look around. Any questions?”
The men looked at Sam and nodded as a group.
“So the bottom line is to keep your fucking heads down.” Sam had kept them outside longer than necessary. They needed to know he was the boss.
He held up a rifle. “This rifle is loaded with paint. When I see your head, I’m gonna hit you. And, if I hit you, you’re gonna drop down and give me twenty pushups. If I hit you a second time, you’re gonna drop down and give me thirty pushups. That chicken shit enough for you, Buster?”
The big man didn’t say anything. He turned his back and stomped away.
“All right. Find some cover. You’ve got thirty seconds. I’ll blow a whistle when the exercise is over.” The men moved off. “And I don’t want to see any heads or fat asses.”
Sam moved quietly through the brush, crouching, staying low to the ground. He circled around to the right, watching shadows moving through the trees. He could hear rustling and waited, hiding behind a tree. When men moved past him, he hit them with the paint. Their curses made them even bigger targets. Sam kept an eye out for Buster and hit him twice.
He made a point to hit Popeye twice. He enjoyed hearing the resulting curses.
Most of the men were experienced in soldiering in the field and learned quickly. The one exception was Marshall. Three times Sam passed up the opportunity to hit him with paint.
He blew his whistle. “All right, men, I’ve kept you longer than planned. Tonight you learned hand and arm signals so you can communicate with one another without noise. This is critical if you’re to own the night.”
Heads nodded.
“Then we discussed cover and camouflage. Some of you got caught and paid a price.” He chuckled. “Any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Throughout the week, we’ll be reviewing hand signals and camouflage procedures when we work with other instruction. These are basic to everything we do.”
He made eye contact with as many men as he could. “That’s enough for tonight. Dismissed.”
Sam walked back into the classroom. He could feel Popeye watching him.
After class, Sam needed to clear his head and think through his plans for the week ahead. He dumped his papers in the
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