Learning To Walk - A Soldier's Story by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 12

Over the next few days, we spent some time studying explosives learning about different types of ordinance and their characteristics. We would never actually handle explosives - that was the job of Special Ops and the Rangers. We were simply given an introduction. The day following this training was critical as we were prepared for ‘night fire’. The conditions of battle seemed harrowing enough, but the idea of exchanging fire at night is one that no words could accurately describe. Contrary to popular belief, most small caliber weapons do not produce a muzzle flash. If the enemy sees you at night, it’s probably already too late. You’ll never see where the shot came from without night vision goggles and learning how not to be seen at night is just as important as in daylight. The enemy, it seems, has access to the same, if not better technology than us. That being said, there is one tool in the soldier's arsenal that, if used properly, can be honed into a superior weapon - his brain. In many cases, learning to use your brain to gain an advantage over the enemy meant staying calm enough to carry out orders and sometimes, your life depended on it. Learning to keep cool under fire would never be as important as during our first ‘night fire’ exercise and as we prepared for this exercise in class, a diagram was displayed.

“This is not just another training class!” the D.I. said. “This is a briefing on your first ‘night fire’ exercise! It is critical that you listen to every single word and do exactly as you are told! If you do something stupid, you will die!” The idea of ’night fire’ is to experience the conditions of a battle at night. The exercise area was approximately forty feet by fifty feet with four concrete open-top bunkers - one at each corner. Two were for the detonation of ordinance, while the other two were for firing flares. We were ordered into concrete trenches and told that live rounds would be fired over our heads. We weren’t told the caliber of the weapons being used, but that some of these would be tracers. These were high-velocity rounds coated with phosphorus. When fired, the heat from the barrel ignited the phosphorus and the round would leave a streak of greenish light through the air. They were used exclusively for aiming gunfire at night. The last thing you wanted was to get hit by one of these.

The idea of getting shot seemed bad enough, but the thought of getting shot with something that would also burn its way through whatever it hit was one that I took very seriously. I’m sure the expression ‘ouch’ probably wouldn’t even begin to describe that experience. On both ends of every trench was posted a drill instructor, each holding a small air horn in the event that the exercise had to be stopped, for whatever reason. With sidearms, rifles, helmets, and bullet-proof vests, we were filed in eight to a trench.

We sat in the trenches for at least ten minutes, so as to experience the anticipation of battle. As luck would have it, I found myself sitting next to Kevin and John. It then occurred to me that if the stress of the exercise turned out to be too much for Kevin, we’d both be there to help him. It felt as though we were waiting forever when suddenly the cool night air exploded. I could feel the ground shaking underneath me as explosives were detonated. The night lit up as tracers streaked their green glow roughly one to two feet over our heads.

During our classroom training, we were told how critical it was to stay as low as possible, but all the classroom time in the world can never be as good a teacher as experience. The ‘night fire’ exercise was a more than adequate example of that idea and crouched as low as possible, it seemed as though the earth opened up and swallowed my senses. The sound of automatic weapons fire filled my head while flares lit up as brilliant white orbs that gently fell from the sky. It would have been a magnificent sight had it not been so terrifying. I tried to turn to see how Kevin was doing only to be swiftly harassed by one of the D.I.’s. “Private!” he yelled. “Keep your goddamn head down!” We were reminded of this almost constantly. I managed to shift my weight just enough to catch a glance at Kevin. We were all scared, but there was something else on his face - something wild. I still can’t put a word to it. “Kevin!” I yelled. “You've got to keep it together!” But, my words fell on deaf ears and as I focused my attention on him, his face took on a blank expression.

In that instant, I knew that Kevin was in trouble. I quickly dropped my head as an ear-shattering explosion ripped through the air. As I looked back, I discovered, to my horror that Kevin had suddenly stood up. His demons had taken him over, pushing aside his ability to reason and taking control of his body. The entire event happened faster than I was able to absorb it and by the time I reached out to grab him by the knees, it was too late. At least one round had knocked his helmet off as shards of bone, blood, and brain tissue exploded over the tops of the trench walls. He’d also been hit by a tracer. It left a burning smell in the air that I would never forget. But in spite of seeing Kevin die, someone or something decided that this was not enough.

Just after Kevin collapsed, John panicked and stood up yelling for a medic. ‘Medic’. It was just one word, but John’s voice was suddenly cut off as a round found its way into the side of his neck. A torrent of blood instantly followed as his legs folded underneath him. John was not as fortunate as Kevin and while Kevin had been killed instantly, John lay choking on his own blood as he clutched my hand. It all happened so quickly, yet in my mind, it seemed to slow to the pace of an afternoon sun creeping across a cloudless summer sky, too fast for the D.I. to react quickly enough as he sounded his air horn, bringing the night back to a misty stillness. He rushed down into the trench before I even had the chance to turn on my flashlight.

“Clear the trenches!” he yelled. “Everyone, get the fuck out!”

The D.I. grabbed me by the back of my vest. “Clear the trench private!”

I moved quickly out of the trench and off the range while medics swarmed over the area. I could hear one of them yelling into his radio.

“We have one critical and one deceased! We need a medevac at the night fire range, stat!” They did their best to stem the flow of blood pouring from John’s neck as one of the medics tried, unsuccessfully, to place an I.V. in his arm.

But by this time, John had stopped choking, prompting the other medic to start chest compressions. Now, the night air was filled with a different sound as a medevac helicopter made its approach. Its searchlight cut through the darkness like a hot knife while its rotors beat against the chilly mist. The Blackhawk helicopter had been specially outfitted by the Army as an airborne ambulance. It carried onboard oxygen and suction and could transport six patients with three flight medics. They were known as ‘angels of the battlefield’, trained to perform, among other things, emergency amputations and tracheotomies. They rolled Kevin’s lifeless body to one side and, while holding pressure, slid a backboard under John.

He never made a sound or moved in the slightest as he was strapped down and carried to the Blackhawk. Kevin’s body was placed in a wire stretcher and loaded in as well, but before the helicopter’s side door was closed, I saw one of the medics cover him with a sheet. I would later learn that John had died in flight to the base hospital. We all stood near the edge of the night fire range. No one said a word. We were only able to watch as two of our fellow recruits died before our eyes. But, they didn’t just die. They died horribly and their families would be forced to say goodbye without the comfort of seeing their faces.

Naturally, there was an investigation. In my previous life, I’d gone to a few funerals - mostly relatives – and I always found them to be a bit tense. After all, no one wants to go to a funeral, right? But clearly, there is a world of difference between seeing the well-tailored dead lying in repose and watching helplessly as two of your friends bleed out next to you. This bought the reality of war far closer and I wasn’t ready to see it - not that I would ever be comfortable with the sight of death, but I had accepted a personal mission to go to the edge of civilization and destroy those who’d voluntarily surrendered their humanity. I had not yet come to accept what I came to think of as the tragic and ugly by-product of war.

Questions began to emerge upon returning to the barracks and I wondered if there was anything else I could have done. We were all under a lot of stress. That was the idea of basic training - learning how to handle stress. But suicide? I never saw that coming. Maybe I should have, I don’t know. As we sat on the floor of the barracks, the air became filled with an eerie silence. I glanced around at the faces of my fellow recruits. Everyone was stunned. They were, of course, curious about what had happened, but no one seemed to know how to ask.

"Private Taylor, report to my office!” The odd quiet was suddenly broken by the sound of the D.I.’s voice. I quickly got to my feet and upon entering the D.I.’s office, I came to attention and saluted, as is customary.

“Sir, Private Taylor reporting as ordered, sir!” I said. The D.I. sat at his desk with my file in front of him as well as a pad and pen.

“Your name’s Clarence, right?”

His tone was oddly casual. I guess I expected a lot more yelling and I was ready for that, but this was something unnerving.

“Sir, yes sir!” I answered.

I continued standing at attention.

“Let’s drop the sir stuff, alright?” he said. “Have a seat.” He opened my file and skimmed over its contents. “Clarence,” he began. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I was a bit bewildered, given recent events. “Um…I thought I was here about what happened during night fire,” I replied.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re going to get to that. I’m just curious about why you’re here. You’ve got a college degree, so you’re not an idiot. Why aren’t you in officer training school? You do know you’re probably going to end up in Afghanistan, right?”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s what I want.” I spoke briefly about my reaction to nine eleven and the desire I felt to put right what was obviously a crime no punishment could fit, even if it meant killing. And although one person usually can’t change anything, sometimes it only takes one person to raise their voice, point a finger and say ‘no, I will not tolerate this!’ I wasn’t trying to impress him but the D.I. was, nonetheless, clearly impressed. “I wish half these guys had your brains,” he said with a nod. “So, what happened out there, Clarence?” Now that I had to talk about it, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to control my emotions and hesitated in my response. “Clarence,” he continued. “It’s okay.” The floodgates of emotion seemed to open by themselves as I suddenly broke down in front of the D.I. “I knew Kevin was going through some stress,” I began tearfully. “But, all of us are. I saw this look on his face - just for a moment.”

“What look was that?” the D.I. asked.

“I…I don’t know,” I answered. “It was like he just tuned out and I think John was trying to help.”

“Clarence,” the D.I. said. “You listen to me. This was not your fault. We try to prevent these things and figure out who can handle it and who can’t and sometimes, people just snap. Now, John had good intentions, but he panicked. These things tend to happen real fast and sometimes you just can’t react fast enough. But I’ll tell you right now, Clarence, if you’re here to fight terrorists, then you’re going to see more of this. I’m not saying that you should get used to it and I hope you never do. But, you better start accepting it, because it’s going to get worse. Now, I know they were your friends and it’s a terrible thing to see your friends die - especially like that. So, I want you to think about this and you don’t have to do it, but I think it would be a good idea.”

I listened intently, hoping he would offer some inspiring words that would take away the pain I felt, allowing me to move on. Instead, he suggested that I write a letter to each family, telling them of our friendship as well as my impressions of them as individuals. I would tell Kevin’s family how important it was for him to serve, in spite of what he was going through. I told them about the courage he displayed on his first parachute jump, in spite of his intense fear of heights. In my letter to John’s family, I described him as the person I saw - selfless. He was someone who seemed to be just as concerned about Kevin as I was, but he went the extra mile in helping Kevin without so much as a single thought to his own safety. Yes, John made a mistake that cost him his life, but I wanted his family to see him as someone who was truly willing to give up his life to help others. I wanted them to see him as a hero.

“Now,” he continued. “I know this is going to sound cruel, but you’re not getting any special treatment. I’m going to ride you just as hard as I did before, just like everyone else. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered.

“Alright,” he said. “Time for lights out.” I stood up, saluted and left his office. The D.I. walked out about five minutes later.

“Alright, ladies!” he yelled. “Lights out! Get your asses in your bunks! 0500’s coming real soon, so get some shut-eye! Tomorrow, you will have one day of liberty! You will be going into town in uniform! You will remember who are! You will remember what you represent! And I do not want to get any reports on any of you! If I do, I will kick your sorry asses all the way back to your mamas! Now, lights out!”