Chapter 5

1/5 HQ, Camp Pendleton, Ca
November 2006

The battalion XO knew why his Delta company commander had requested this meeting with the old man. And the XO knew that Captain Janes was persistent and focused and would not let this go until he heard a yes or no from the C.O. The officers were thusly gathered around the battalion commander’s small conference table in his large office.

“ ... probably close to the best E5 infantry man in this man’s Corps. And for a year now, the comm chief sends him out on lance corporal errands to fix stupid problems on computers. And the Battalion desperately needs qualified and experienced squad leaders.”

“Define ‘desperate’, captain”

“Sir, does the colonel know that approximately on third of my squad leaders in my rifle platoons are are corporals? Corporals having the sole qualification of being the senior man in the squad? Corporals that have to be watched carefully by other squad leaders and the platoon sergeant? Desperate, sir, means we have to shuffle people in and out of platoons, depending on the mission at hand.” Why? So we might have a chance to pass our certification. Desperate, sir, is most of my platoons’ primary tactical operating mode as a two-squad platoon, because the corporals running the squads have no relevent combat experience.”

“How can a single sergeant solve these problems?”

“Sir, competent and experienced and determined leadership has a cascade effect on a platoon. Once the lowest common denominator is fixed, everything else in the platoon or company just works. The more brilliant the leader, the greater the increase in platoon mission effectiveness and survivability.”

“XO, do you agree?”

“Sir, in this particular case only. Because the individual Marine is close to being the perfect infantryman.”

“Someone got a background on him?”

Capt Janes pulled a complete SRB hard copy out of his satchel. “I have his record, sir. And I have this one page summary, sir.”

“I’ll take both. I’m not going to ask how you got the man’s SRB print-out, captain.”

The colonel quickly read the single-page summary, did not believe it, and opened and started reading O’Brien’s SRB. After about 5 minutes, the colonel started flipping around through the record, then closed the folder. “Incredible. XO, does the sergeant major know of this sergeant?”

“Sir, the sergeant major is very much aware of Sergeant O’Brien. And is very protective of the man. The sergeant major and many senior staff NCOs are also aware and very protective of O’Brien. And they are also the reason that we do not have a functional S-2 shop.”

The C.O. went to a side door and yelled, “Get the sergeant major in here now! ASAP, corporal!”

The SgtMaj and his battalion C.O. engaged in intellectual warfare for about 10 minutes until the SgtMaj grew tired of his boss’s leadership rhetoric and dropped a bomb, “ ... so leadership, and that is ‘WE’, gentlemen, fucked this man over at every turn of his career. This command, and his previous commands, have avoided treatment of his PTSD. And did the colonel know that the man had, at one point, fully intended to re-enlist?”

“Finally, sir, its really fucking wonderful that command understands their mistakes. But it is all a moot point. Sir, his EAS does not support the battalion’s deployment schedule.”

The C.O.looked askance at the SgtMaj’s sarcasm, but realized that going to bat against the command’s most senior and experienced SNCO was career suicide, and in this case, would be morally wrong.

Capt Janes jumped back into the fray. “That’s just two freaking lousy months, sergeant major. We get him to extend. If not, I send him back early in the deployment cycle, on his way to seps.”

The sgt major cast a stern eye to the young captain. “With all due respect, sir. I would strongly advise the good captain to not ignore Marine Corps Orders on deployment eligibility standards and to not match wits with Sergeant O’Brien.”

“Are you saying he’s a freaking genius?”

“No, sir. But behind that slow speech and redneck accent, there is a mind that does not miss anything, and there is not much that he cannot learn. He has taught himself computer science, calculus, physics, ancient and modern history, and has read every weapons manual, radio manual, squad and platoon tactics manuals, embarkation logistics, and God knows what else. What I am saying sir, he knows MCOs and DoD directives about as well as any admin chief.”

The colonel shook his head and stared into the bulkhead. He was torn between the morality of his leadership decisions and the needs of the battalion. He was somewhat disappointed in himself for crossing over into that grim, gray area of leadership. “Sergeant Major, I’ll have S-1 cut some battalion orders assigning Sergeant O’Brien to Delta company. While I respect and appreciate the protective umbrella provided by yourself and some of the company first sergeants, and respect your difficult ethical position, we cannot ignore the battalion’s mission. Failure to support the mission is a type of mutiny. Simple as that.”

“Aye, Aye, Sir. I’ll see the S-1 now. The orders will go out today to the standard list with Sergeant O’Brien and the comm platoon commander being added to the list to guarantee immediate copy.”

The C.O. stood up behind his desk. “Captain Janes. Please listen to the advice of the sergeant major and your first sergeant. And do not test Sergeant O’Brien.”

“I understand, sir. I need experienced squad leaders now. We’ll use them when we can and where we can.”

O’Brien read his orders and knew that he was being served another shit sandwich, and well in advance of arriving at Delta Company. Conversely, he looked at this as another opportunity to game the command. Monday morning would be interesting. O’Brien had also got ‘advance intel’ on his assigned platoon and squad. The platoon sgt and/or platoon commander had deposited their shit-birds and morons into his squad. O’Brien decided to approach squad personnel ‘issues’ differently. He determined that the best path was to simply not deal with the 8 to 10 problem children thrown into 3d squad. His two corporals would be his problem and only direct reports. He would ignore the squad members and speak only to his fire team leaders, which would force them to fix their own shit.

The company gunny introduced O’Brien to SSgt Scott, who in turn introduced the squad to O’Brien. “Thank you staff sergeant. I’ll take it from here. As Scott departed the barracks spaces of 3d squad, O’Brien ordered the two cpls to follow him to the duty hut.

“Uh sergeant, Lance Corporal Harry is also a fire team leader.”

“Did I fuckin ask, corporal?”

“No sergeant.”

Then shut the fuck up, corporal, until I ask you a question.”

The two corporals did careful glances at each other with questioning looks. They had heard much about this sergeant. They were looking forward to training with a squad leader having significant combat experience. Which was even more so important with the this particular group of Marines.

“Someone show me the fuckin training schedule for the week.”

“Uh, don’t have it on hand, sergeant.”

“Do you have it memorized or something?”

“No, sergeant.”

O’Brien raised the volume a notch. “Then someone had better fuckin find me one now.”

The duty NCO behind the small steel desk stood. “Hey sarge, here’s my copy. I don’t need it seeing I got the duty.”

“Thank you, corporal.”

O’Brien briefly scanned the schedules. The company had most of the week as ‘platoon commander’s time’. The platoon schedule had most of the week as ‘squad leader’s time’. O’Brien could not believe that a company starting a work up for a combat deployment in almost 5 months had nothing on the training schedule.

Slowly folding the papers and placing them in his pocket, O’Brien barked, “Gear inspection on the rack in ten minutes!” When the two corporals did their best ‘deer in the headlights’ impression. O’Brien paused, then again barked, “That’s now nine minutes, people. Fuckin move!”

The two corporals almost fell over each other going through the hatch. After their exits, the DNCO looked at O’Brien with a questioning look. O’Brien shrugged and said, “Remind me to thank the company for giving me a squad full of idiots.” The corporal smiled but said nothing.

“Corporal, need to use your phone. What’s the first shirt’s extension?”

“Phone list here sarge.” The duty NCO shoved the phone across the duty desk to O’Brien.”

“Good morning, first sergeant. This is Sergeant O’Brien ... yes, first sergeant, and I thank you for your efforts and support. But I now have a seriously messy job. How busy is the company armorer? ... Could I have rifle issue for my squad as soon as possible? ... No first sergeant. I had planned to inform Staff Sergeant Scott on the way out. Oh, and is it possible for me to use my H&S rifle card in the interim? ... Thank you, first sergeant.”

O’Brien looked at the 3 schedules one more time, then sat down on a bench in the passageway. After about 8 minutes, O’Brien looked at his watch and half stomped half marched into the 3d squad barracks spaces. “Everyone stand in front of their rack.” After a lot of confused chatter and last-minute setup of equipment, O’Brien bellowed “I fuckin said to stand in front of your rack. I did NOT say fuckin talk. I did NOT say to continue fuckin with your fuckin gear!”

“Beeman is this your team?”

“Aye, sergeant.”

“Harting, are these your team members?

“Aye, sergeant.”

“Beeman, Harting. Divide the remaining four people up between your two fire teams and submit an updated roster to Staff Sergeant Scott.”

O’Brien walked through the area looking at the gear. Most of the ruck gear appeared fairly new and in good shape. Molle and other load-carrying gear was in disarry and was a tangled mess. But at least the camel systems were all present and looked servicable.

“Harting, Beeman. Here now.” The two corporals scrambled to get into the passage way with their squad leader.

“Get your people ready to go. The minimum kit follows. Two full canteens plus camel. Standard molle issue. Magazines, cleaning gear, and any other issued weapons accesories.” On the deck, in formation, ready to go in 20 mike starting now.” The two corporals hesitated with the ‘surprise’ change in training schedule. O’Brien put them back in motion with, “Well, fucking go...”

O’Brien trotted up to the NCO deck to pick up his gear. He also had two pre-programmed hand-helds courtesy of the comm platoon. SSgt Hegroson had wanted him to test them in a line company setting. And safety regulations required radios for troops in the field. Finding his phone, he made a quick call. “You certain that you want to do this on your time off, Sanchez? ... You gonna call the doc? ... Ok, see ya in 10. Thanks much, man.”

O’Brien donned his gear and went to the parking lot to meet Sanchez and Doc Williams, the latter had been waiting for several minutes. While they did not repeat their emotional reunion of last week, Doc Williams still firmly grasp O’Brien’s arm with two hands.

“You certain there’s no trouble with you free-lancing?”

“Nah. Its all good, sarge. So where are your problem children?”

Looking at his watch, O’Brien glanced towards the barracks. “Those fuckers better start exiting the building about now.” As Sanchez was driving up, O’Brien’s squad members were trickling out of the barracks to stand on the concrete in a gaggle. O’Brien ignored the troops and waited for his two team leaders. They were the last out of the building. “Two columns, Harting.” As soon as the squad formed, O’Brien called them to attention and marched them towards the armory.

“Beeman, Harting. Get them in there and get fuckin issued weapons then form them up. Do you two have to be told fuckin everything?”

The two corporals rousted their troops out of formation and lined them up in front of the armory. After the squad weapons issue was complete, O’Brien introduced himself to the company armorer. “Corporal, thanks much for responding to the short notice. A heads up for ya. My squad, and perhaps the platoon, is going to be doing a lot of this whenever there are big holes in the training schedule. So how do ya want me to handle notification?”

“I don’t really care, sergeant. As long as I do not have anything cooking in the armory. You know what, just give me a call before you call the first shirt and I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good, corporal. We’ll see ya around 1500. That work for you?”

“If you’re not doing any shooting, no problem, sarge.”

As O’Brien approached the unformed gaggle of Marines, he pointed to Beeman and Harting. “What the fuck did I tell you two morons to do? Have them formed up and ready to go. Were my orders not clear?”

“Uh, orders were clear, sergeant. Were just sorta confused about everything.”

O’Brien went back to his loud command voice. “You’re fuckin confused? Y’all are not confused! You have chosen to not listen to me. This has resulted in a failure to obey orders. No more second-guessing! Just fuckin do what I tell you to do or I’m gonna fuck both of you up! And by that I mean put your insubordinate asses in the hospital. Get the fuckin squad formed you worthless dick-heads ... FUCKIN NOW!”

When the squad had formed, O’Brien marched them down the road with the Doc in Sanchez’s truck, following the formation. After exiting the 5th Marines area going east on San Mateo, O’Brien ordered route step and increased the pace. A few hundred meters down San Mateo, O’Brien turned Northeast onto the range road. O’Brien, once again, incrementally increased the pace.

About 2 clicks down the road, the group was walking past the ‘outlying airfield’. Another 2 clicks and O’Brien turned the column north onto a steep fire road. He was starting to hear groans and heavy breathing from the squad. Yet another 2 clicks and the fire road came to a ‘T’ intersection. O’Brien turned west onto a trail/fire road. He figured about 5km to the water tank over-looking 5th Marines. The trail mostly followed the ridge line, so O’Brien decide that another incremental pace increase would be the logical thing to do. A quick glance back at the column indicated to O’Brien that there were no laggards. O’Brien had now established a well-defined starting place, at least for the physical part of training.

In less than 8km they had returned to their area 62 departure point. Turning the column east (again) on San Mateo, then an immediate left turn where he immediately called for double time. After going through a small secure built-up area and quickly turing east, he continued to run through an open area for about 500 meters.

Calling the column to a halt, O’Brien signaled to Beeman and Harting. “I want one hour of battle drills, all formations, all possible transitions. No talking past initial instructions. Standard arm and hand signals.”

Beeman raised his hand like a second-grader, futher re-enforcing O’Brien’s opinion of the man. “Sergeant, I don’t know all of the formations and transitions. Haven’t done that since SOI.”

“Harting? Do you know the squad battle formations?”

“Yes, sergeant. But I cannot remember all of the hand signals.”

“Beeman, you are now a rifleman for this drill. Harting, take the whole squad and complete the squad battle drills.”

“Aye, sergeant.”

O’Brien walked over to Sanchez’s truck to talk with his friends.

“Holeeee sheeet, sarge? They expect you to take that pile of dog shit to Iraq?”

“Not at all, Sanchez. They expect me to take that fuckin crap to Afghanistan. Heard it from the first shirt last Friday. I’m guessin that’s why the battalion has been spinning its wheels for a while. Can’t make plans for shit if we don’t know where the fuck we’re goin. I’m gonna speculate that the Afghan situation is total dog shit and gettin worse, so there we go...”

“I hear that the Taliban is a better class of Haji. More disciplined, more central control, and a lot less running around yelling ‘Allah akbar’.”

“Yep. That’s what I hear.”

“So what’s your status, sarge? They still plan on sending you for a short deployment?”

“Not sure. Leadership is arguing about it. But ultimately, that’s what the captain has planned.”

“I’m not certain, so you tell me. You’re not eligible to deploy because of your EAS, yet they’re sending you anyway. Sorta a flagrant violation of Marine Corps Orders by your command? Don’t you think?”

“You are NOT wrong, man. The captain just does not seem to care. He now has three squads that have no fuckin sergeant. The man’s desperation has made him stupid as a bag of rocks.”

“So what does your platoon commander think about all of this?”

“Dunno. Actually never met the man. This is effectively my first day in the platoon. And the the only thing that Staff Sergeant Scott got from me was ‘hello’. He handed me the squad’s roster and asked if there were any questions. Then we said a heart-felt ‘Bye’. We’ve not talked previously. The staff sergeant seems to have resigned himself to be the head baler on a sinkin boat.”

“Wait one. I’m past due to call in.” Entering the code for the company net. O’Brien was impressed at the apparent build quality of these new radios. “Delta 3, this is three of two checkin in, over.”

After several seconds of dead air, “uh, 3 of 2, we have nothing scheduled. Checking in from what?”

“Delta 3, where is 3 actual?”

“Do not know, 3 of 2. Maybe chow.”

“Roger that, delta 3. Please log this traffic. 3 of 2 out.”

O’Brien and Sanchez exchanged resigned shrugs. “Well fuck me. Nobody knows we’re out here. My platoon sergeant probably never submitted my schedule to the company. And I doubt the first shirt is still at chow at 1400. It’s lookin like I’m in a company full of retards.”

Sanchez, the doc, and O’Brien continued to watch the squad do battle drills. Sanchez was the first to comment on the attitudes. “You know, sarge, the troops are actually getting into that shit. It’s your two corporals that have the shitty attitude.”

“Yeah, good point. I noticed their body language a little while back.” Looking at his watch, “its time to round ‘em up and return them to the barn.” O’Brien did a low sheep-dog whistle to get their attention. Cpl Harting trotted up to his squad leader. “Do a gear check - make sure everyone’s stuff is secure, then form them up. Two columns.”

“Aye, sergeant.”

Facing back into the truck, “Doc, I’m gonna run them back. Honk the horn if you see something you don’t like.”

“No problemo, sarge. Before we go, I’ve been thinking. My senior chief thinks I’m wonderful and that my shit doesn’t stink. I’m sure that I could get assigned to your platoon.”

“You’re a good man, doc. But you’re not seeing the platoon for what it is. The platoon is full of morons. I’m amazed they can get dressed in the morning by themselves. But I’m sure as fuck would be glad to have you in the platoon. I would have at least one person that I could depend on.”

As the squad formed, O’Brien saddled up, called to squad to attention, then set course for 5th Marines at a fast double-time pace. Although it was only a few clicks, O’Brien felt incrementally more hopeful when they turned towards the armory and he noted that there were no drops or laggards.

Because O’Brien could not depend on his company for support, the next two days of squad training was running twice per day, weight training, cleaning weapons, and lectures on battalion-organic weapons and associated tactical considerations and weapon systems specifications. In the meantime O’Brien was attempting to get his platoon sergeant and platoon commander to sign off on a training schedule and have the company order support infrastructure from battalion. A significant part of O’Brien’s efforts was trying to shame his platoon sergeant and platoon commander into adopting a relevant training regimen.

O’Brien did not want to remove any chance of establishing a good working relationship with Lt Lopez or SSgt Scott by going directly to the first sergeant, so he planned to continue to ‘set the example’ for training in the platoon.

O’Brien’s squad stood out at the Friday morning company formation. In full gear, it was obvious to the platoon, nee the company, that O’Brien’s squad was actually training. After formation, Harting formed the squad and marched them towards the armory.

O’Brien trailed behind his squad as his platoon commander and sergeant trotted to catch up. “Sergeant O’Brien, could you hold for a few?” SSgt Scott spoke his first words to O’Brien in almost three days. The LT remained silent.

“Aye, Staff Sergeant.”

“What is your squad doing, O’Brien?”

“Its on the training schedule. I submitted it to you Monday afternoon, staff sergeant.”

O’Brien noted that the first shirt was standing behind the LT and SSgt Scott.

“Do you have comm and a safety vehicle? Do you need a corpsman?”

“Aye, Staff Sergeant. Its in appendix B of the schedule, that I submitted Monday.”

“Were you ever going to discuss training objectives and commander’s intent with me? You’ve been doing this separate training all week, O’Brien.”

“Aye, staff sergeant. The request for a scheduling meeting with the Lieutentent and yourself is in Appendix A of the schedule, that I submitted Monday.”

“You know what, O’Brien? I fucked up. I should have read your schedule. It was the least I could do to honor your planning efforts. But you fucked up by doing your own thing without ever asking for any follow-up. No one can operate in a vacuum. The platoon could have benefieted from this shit.”

“Aye, staff sergeant. I understand.”

“Ok, lets quickly talk about comm and safety vehicle.”

“As an add-on to squad training, we’re testing some fancy new hand-helds that the S-6 comm geeks issued.” O’Brien dropped his pack, pulled out a radio, and handed it to SSgt Scott.”

“What’s the range of this little fucker?”

“Depends on the frequency hops required, staff sergeant. Four or Five kilometers when terrain and weather are shit. Maybe twenty clicks when everything is good.”

“I suppose that this is part of the new system that makes its own networks without any central routing?”

“Aye, staff sergeant. That’s exactly it. And headers can be optional for the data packets.”

“So where’s the safety vehicle?”

“Should be at the armory. Its actually the comm geeks’ hummer. They’re gonna be doing some repeater testing.”

“Fucking efficient. I want next weeks schedule ASAP. I’ll be at the barracks around 1030 tomorrow to get your schedule. Carry out the training schedule and Plan of the Day, Sergeant O’Brien.”

“Aye, staff sergeant.” O’Brien wondered why SSgt Scott had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning.

As O’Brien trotted to the armory, his first thoughts were that Scott was stand-up guy and worthy of his respect. His second thoughts were that Scott apparently kept up with new military technology.

O’Brien’s squad consumed the morning discussing counter-ambush tactics followed by a graduate-level practicum of immediate action drills in the hills north of 5th Marines. Early in the training session, when O’Brien commented on the basis of the drills, his squad members ratcheted their focus and intensity up a ‘notch’ upon the revelation that the tactics being taught were based on his Afghan combat experiences.

The last 30 minutes was a lecture on the philosophy of the tactics.

“ ... and because you never know what type of Taliban unit that you will encounter, and because you can’t do a worst-case assumption that the unit ambushing you is well-trained and supervised by cadre, we must make that determination based on the first elements of the ambush. Their fire discipline - lanes of fire. How quickly they are able to set up their flanks. And whatever behavioral or tactical artifacts that are observable during the first ten or fifteen seconds.”

“Questions?”

There was almost 15 minutes of questions, mostly stupid, but a few of the squad’s questions indicated other than shallow thinking. It was more than O’Brien could have hoped for from this carefully-chosen group of idiots.

“Final observation. Ambushes from long distances. Because you can’t assualt through a long ambush, you must always have an exit. To have an exit, the squad and fire team leaders must always be looking for a safe place to land when the engine quits. And no one in the squad was able to do that, much less detect a long ambush within a few seconds.”

“Beeman. Harting. Saddle up and put them in formation.”

O’Brien ran the squad back at a brisk pace considering they had rucked out most of their gear, except body armor. Again, as he turned into the armory, he noted that were no laggards.

O’Brien was in his barracks space, reading a history tome when his platoon sergeant quietly walked in. Without looking up, “its on the rack, staff sergeant...” O’Brien put the history book on his desk and looked at the papers on his rack. “Uh, there are actually two schedules. One is an seperate schedule only for my squad. The other is a ‘joint’ schedule where all three squads could meet up at that big field next to Christian road and train together.”

“My assumption was that that the other two squads do drills on their own, then meet up once or twice a day to do it at platoon level.”

Scott did a quick look at the squad schedule in tabular form. “Looks interesting, O’Brien.” The staff sergeant did a rapid scan of O’Brien’s space. “Where did you get these book cases?”

“Some from empty rooms. The two large ones are checked out from battalion supply.”

Scott noticed that O’Brien was reading one of the Norwich books on the Byzantine empire. “I hope that you’re going to read more than just Norwich.”

“Yep.” O’Brien pointed to a bottom shelf, “got two more, different authors, that I’ll be readin next, staff sergeant ... Actually, I think he only wrote these two Byzantium books. All of his other shit are lecture notes and syllabus crap for his students. I can’t believe that the fucker gets away with publishing all that shit as fuckin books.”

“That’s academia. Once you get a big name, you get to publish anyfuckingthing. Got to go, O’Brien. See you Monday.”

“See ya, staff sergeant.”

SSgt Scott exited Delta company barracks, having additional confirmation that Lt Lopez’s background brief on O’Brien was not hyperbole. Scott figured that the next 4 to 6 months could be ‘interesting’.

From mid January until early March, 2d platoon of Delta Company trained using O’Brien’s schedules and logistics support tables for two months. 1st platoon started training in lock-step with 2d platoon during mid February. By the 1st week of March, 3d platoon had joined the party. The first shirt and the company gunny increasingly found themselves managing the support logistics and took over the training schedule during the 2d week of March. O’Brien, was beyond elation to be relieved of that burden, so he scheduled a Sunday at the beach for his squad.

O’Brien had Beeman and Harting organized the supplies and run the grills. Cpl Beeman proved to be an able and willing cook for the squad. O’Brien invited SSgt Scott, Cpl Sanchez, and Doc Williams to the event. Scott’s response to the invitation was indeterminate.

O’Brien observed the surf zone for less than 10 minutes, trotted back to Sanchez’s truck to retrieve his board and change into a shorty, then ran into the Pacific Ocean. By the time O’Brien had paddled past the surf zone, most of the squad was quiet, and watching their squad leader. Counting swell intervals and listening to the surf, O’Brien chose a wave. The wave was low-power, but had a consistent 1.5 meter break, so O’Brien was able to stay centered on the wave face all the way in. The wave felt good to O’Brien, so he kicked out before the wave collapsed and drove back through the surf zone.

“Sergeant O’Brien looks smooth. But he’s from Texas. Where did he learn to surf? Sanchez stepped forward to face the young Marine. “He learned from his first squad leader. And then he taught his own team to surf.”

“So why the fuck did he not teach us?”

“Probably because you’re fucking idiots. Sergeant O’Brien doesn’t want anyone to drown and or otherwise get hurt on his watch. That’s how you treat idiots - you protect them from themselves.”

Hearing Sanchez’s comment, Beeman and Harting exchanged glances, said nothing, then returned to grilling chow. Harting was visibly upset. Beeman shrugged, and stoically accepted Sanchez’s comments as statements of fact.

Other then the two corporals, the squad had yet to process the comments of Cpl Sanchez. They were, in fact, idiots. The bulk of the squad returned to mindless bull-shitting and watching their squad leader surf.

O’Brien reluctantly returned to the beach. He was intercepted by Sanchez on the way to the fire. “So your platoon sergeant knowingly put all of these retards in the same squad?”

“Yep. And he won’t say why. None of them are survivors. Only a few are fighters. But they react mostly to their fire team leaders physical response to my commands. Any level of stress and they no longer process verbal commands. They’re fuckin toast unless staff sergeant Scott can find a decent squad leader before they deploy.”