Chapter 7: The Five

Doc Sanders was frantically working on Pistochini while he was being carried to the medevac bird. Vera was holding Pistochini’s good hand and carrying an IV bag as they boarded. An army medic separated Vera’s hold on the IV, hanging the bag on a hook above the litter. The medic turned to Vera, placing one hand on his shoulder and his other on the hand Vera had clenched to his sergeant’s hand. Vera’s hand was gently pulled away by the medic to disunite his contact from Pistochini. The medic ushered Vera off the back ramp of the bird.

Vera was furious. Vera was crying. Corporal Tyjon Vera did not know where to go or what to do. Tyjon Vera fell down near the spot where he had last seen Pistol, sitting on the cold dirt. L/Cpl Charles joined Vera on the dirt, positioned towards the middle of no-mans land. Lough and Blake and Sgt Starling stood over Vera and Charles, mostly to provide security and to warn others away.

The next morning found no changes in the locations or positions of the Five Marines, standing or sitting outside of the battalion CP’s perimeter. By mid-morning, the Five Marines had become the local ‘tourist attraction’. When the crowds of sailors and Marines and contractors became too big and too noisy, Charles stood up, unsafed his M14, and proceeded to calmly fire a few rounds into the area around the five Marines, away from the HESCO. The crowd rapidly dispersed as Charles inserted another magazine. Vera started silently crying again. Charles moved closer to Tyjon Vera, grabbed his hand and held it tightly. Vera calmed, but anger still pervaded the psyche and souls of the Five Marines. The Five Marines assumed a super-awareness and a focus comprised of contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

Several officers and senior enlisted talked to Captain Olsen about the Five Marines. Olsen told each sailor or marine, in turn, to fuck off and to focus on finding a way to preserve the battalion as a unit. Brent Olsen was also angry. He did not remember being this full of anger when Sean O’Brien was shot up and sent home for 120 days. The next person that came to talk about his Five Marines found himself on the deck with the sharp edge of a ka-bar against his neck. People stopped trying to talk to Captain Olsen about his Five Marines in the middle of the field. The battalion staff and contractors vacillated between respect for Olsen’s people, and an abiding fear that the CP had descended into madness.

Sometime after 1800 on the second day, Capt Olsen and two Marines from S-2 brought sleeping bags, water, and MREs to the Five Marines. No words were exchanged. Olsen and his two S-2 Marines immediately removed themselves from the area after the items were delivered to his Five Marines.

Charles unzipped a bag and draped it around Vera’s broad shoulders. Charles handed Vera a water bottle. Charles and Vera drank some water. Charles handed Vera some MRE crackers. Charles and Vera ate some MRE crackers. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

By 0700 of the third day, the bags and MREs and water had been neatly stowed behind Charles and Vera. The Five Marines remained a principle tourist attraction. The ‘tourists’ were now quiet and respectful. Charles reached for his rifle whenever a tourist did approach. The ‘tourist’ would then, typically, depart the area, lesson learned.

As Major Bowerd entered Olsen’s office. Olsen stood up.

“As you were, Captain.” Captain Olsen said nothing and remained at parade rest.

“The General sent me here to assume interim CO/XO duties during the command re-build. I understand that we have a behavior problem in your sniper platoon. When are you going to fix it?”

The major stood over the Captain’s desk, awaiting a response.

“Nothing to be fixed at this time, sir. The Marines are on post, and will remain until I say otherwise.”

“I am in command here. They will do as I say. It is now my battalion.”

The major tapped the captains desk with a large ring on his left hand.

“You fucking ring-knocking, elitist, careerist, trash. The Five Marines are some of the people that discovered the rogue problem and have sacrificed their bodies and careers to preserve the constitution and save the republic. Go back to General Dunford. Tell him to either put me in jail or find a real Marine to lead the battalion.”

“You had better re-calibrate, captain, because...”

The major’s lecture abruptly ended when Bowerd found himself slammed onto to his back, into the deck.

Captain Olsen, having become quite comfortable with feel of a tightly gripped ka-bar, drew it and placed the large knife across the major’s lower throat.

“You have an hour to contact the general. The general needs to replace your sorry ass for lack of leadership skills. The other option is that I kill you. Choose wisely. I will find you; the CP is not that large.”

The major thought he had walked onto the set of a Stephen King horror movie. He concluded that the battalion command structure has collapsed. Bowerd was certain that the remaining officers were not interested in restoring the BLT and may not be sane. Bowerd decided that the enlisted leadership was not effective, and wondered where the heck was the sergeant major. He was thinking that they were all clinically insane. The major concluded that he will not attempt to run a unit composed of the insane.

The major departed the CP in an unarmed and unarmored hummer, without a driver, sometime after 1400. His remains were scraped into a body bag sometime after 1600, about 65 km north of the battalion CP. Not much for the people at Dover to work with, but it was something to send home to his elitist, wealthy family. The post-funeral service reception was held at an opulent private club and was enjoyed by all of the Browerd family’s superficial friends. The food was excellent, the chamber music was good, and the venue was posh. The Marine honor guard performed well. One less ring-knocker. One less member of a societal segment known to have never been ensconced in reality.

Reality for the members of Sgt Pistochini’s extended scout/sniper team sucked. But the mechanics and their physical conditions had improved. By 1630 of the third day ‘on watch’ outside of the battalion CP perimeter, a porta-potty had been place approximately 20 meters behind Cpl Vera, and several jerry cans of water were in place.

As the daily highs did not exceed +5C, and the morning lows were below -5C, washing and shaving became painful to the five marines. They did not care. Pain was embedded in the core of their current reality. Their physical pain was an offering to Odin and Jesus and Mohamed for a savior of Sergeant Pistochini. None of this scout/sniper team could fathom this world without Pistochini. Their individual experiences did not grant them the ability to accept things that they could not affect. And their anger had not yet abated. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

The morning of fourth day found no change in the location or positions of The Five. Another cold day, sitting on the deck outside the battalion CP perimeter passed as the sunset went unseen behind the clouds.

For lack of anything better to do, Charles extracted his NVGs from his pack to look around when he heard something. His scans found two hajis that were dragging the away the body of the M203 shooter that had been killed by Pistochini. Charles found Pistol’s M14 and waited for the hajis to be silhouetted against the lights over the CP generator. He killed both of them. The team looked up at Charles, saw his wet and swollen eyes, but said nothing. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

The Five Marines awoke in the dark of the fifth morning. If they were not already conscious, before 0600 to find a light covering of ice crystals over the area. With minimal movement, the Marines ritually shaved and bathed in +3C water. About 0630, a Buddhist civilian mess hall contractor brought a large insulated container of coffee, and departed after being careful to not look into the faces of the Five Marines. The coffee was an offering of alms, per Buddhist tradition, to monks and holy men.

Charles gave Vera some coffee. Charles and Vera drank coffee. The other three Marines, in turn, drank coffee. Charles gave more coffee to Vera. Charles extracted cleaning gear from his pack. Charles cleaned the M14. Each Marine, in turn, performed the ritual of cleaning their weapons. The team looked at Vera and Charles but said nothing. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

Sometime past 1630 on the fifth day, Charles prepared an MRE and gave Vera an entree. Charles and Vera ate the MRE. The other three Marines, in turn, shared an MRE entree. Charles laid the M14 on his pack, wrapped a sleeping bag around Vera and sat on the same ground, now hallowed by The Five Marines as the last place where they had seen Pistochini. Sometime past 0100, Charles stood and emptied a magazine into three or four hajis that were attempting to re-claim the bodies from the previous night. Charles was uncertain about his targets, his eyes were wet and swollen. The team looked up at Charles as he replaced the magazine, but said nothing. The Five resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

Sometime past 0830 on the sixth day, a group of Marines with body bags approached the randomly distributed pile of the seven haji bodies. Charles stood and pointed an M14 at the group as they walked across no-mans land. The group of Marines with body bags stopped, turned around, and re-traced their steps out of the area.

The pile of bodies was an offering to Odin. An offering for the life of Pistol. Charles sat down. Charles cleaned the M14. Each Marine, in turn, performed the ritual of cleaning weapons. The other team members looked at Charles and Vera but said nothing. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

About 1530, three Buddhist civilian mess hall contractors brought several insulated food containers, then departed after being careful to not look into the faces of The Five Marines. The food was per the Buddhism custom of an offering of alms to monks and holy men.

Charles gave food to Vera. Charles and Vera ate. The other three Marines, in turn, ate the offering of alms. The other team members looked at Charles and Vera, both with wet and swollen eyes, but said nothing. The Five Marines resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

Sometime past 1900, Charles laid the M14 on his pack, wrapped a sleeping bag around Vera’s shoulders and sat on the hallowed ground. Sometime past 2330, Charles stood and emptied a magazine into some of the six or more hajis that were attempting to re-claim the bodies from the previous nights. Starling and Lough also stood to each empty a magazine into the four or more remaining hajis. The Marines were not certain about their targets; their eyes were wet and swollen. The team looked at Charles as he replaced the magazine, but said nothing. Starling and Lough replaced their magazines. The Five Marines, looking into the dark, heavy, sodden sky, resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

The S2 chief was not able to understand the bizarre order of things that had over-taken the battalion CP. The CO and sergeant major and S3 gunner were missing. The S1 and S4 shops were continuing to operate as if all was quite normal, and the change in command structure of the line companies were quietly completed within two days. The master sergeant did not understand why someone had not seen this for the madness that it is.

“Holy shit, captain. There might be twenty bodies in that pile. Pistochini’s team has flipped. They are insane. And this is getting to be a cult. The Buddhists and Hindus in the compound regard those five as holy men. Sir, we have to stop this.”

“Top, in case you have never noticed, the Marine Corps is, in fact, a cult, and our Five are simply a sub-cult. And yes, The Five could very well be our holy men. There is no sound tactical or logistical reason to stop The Five. They are standing watch and efficiently killing the enemy.”

Captain Olsen sat down. Olsen looked at his chief with disrespect, and the master sergeant withered under his glare. Olsen continued his statements of conclusive certainty.

“Top, you have brought dishonor to the unit. You told Sergeant Pistochini to ignore his article 31 rights and instructed him to talk to those anti-American anarchic scum. For all I know, you are an operative of that rogue organization. I am instructing you to have no further discussions about The Five with myself or any other personnel outside of the platoon or the JAG reps. You are relieved of all duties as the S-2 Chief and are confined to barracks and the chow hall. Your security clearance is revoked. Leave immediately.”

Capt Olsen reluctantly used his second burner phone to call Lt Garza’s CIA friend.

“Hello. Mark Cameron? How are my men? ... That’s good. Do they know about Pistochini and his team? ... Okay, thanks for that. Please listen to my synopsis. We have another problem. The general, or someone on his staff, are not following the re-org plan that was done with JAG for personnel selections. The major sent to run the battalion was ineffectual and foolish. He got blown up by an IED driving himself in an unprotected vehicle. The battalion is currently headless, but somehow continues to run. The line units are still operating their AOs, but may not be ready for the spring. I had to relieve my Chief today. Trust is low among the troops and remaining staff. But what really bothers me is that JAG is not talking about the investigation of missing senior staff, to include the colonel.”

Capt Olsen looked around the outer office and closed his hatch, then put the phone’s speaker on.

Cameron paused, uncertain of Olsen’s physical security.

“ ... but that last thing is not what was explained to me, Brent. The FBI told me that your CO, Sergeant Major, and S-3 warrant are accounted for. Does JAG no longer trust or talk to the FBI?”

“Unknown. But the trust issue is rampant and has become far-ranging. Unless the feds can demonstrate that they have found and removed these shadow cells, then some units, and eventually all forward-deployed units of Marine Corps MEUs, will become ineffective. Here’s the bottom line, whom can be trusted? If you cannot answer authoritatively, then General Dunford’s staff needs to be relieved and the units of the MEF should be sent back to Pendleton.”

“Understood, Brent. Can you give us a few more days? Your battalion seems to be holding well on ‘auto-pilot’. Can the company commanders hang in there? We need your help on this one. You and the S-1 and S-4 seem to have been the glue for the last week. At most five to ten days? Will you do it?”

I’ll do it, Cameron. But each day increases the level of irreparable damage and the risk of this mess being made public. Bye.”

Captain Olsen decided it was time to visit his people. The Five. The Holy Ones. ‘What the hell’, he thought. Why not ‘holy men’?’ Olsen figured that they have purity of purpose and that some of them have sacrificed much to protect others. Olsen thought of their monastic and almost cloistered life-style. Olsen decided that the ‘Holy Men’ designation shall stand.

Sometime after 1530 on the seventh day, as Brent Olsen was watching his people from a discrete distance, he noted the reverent and deferential manner in which three contract workers from the chow deck approached The Five. The chow hall workers were careful to never look into their faces and they did everything in silence. Olsen immediately saw this is very Buddhist. The chow was alms for the holy ones. There was no other way for Olsen to interpret that.

After the chow was delivered, and the servers were out of the area, Olsen observed the next ritual. L/Cpl Charles ‘awoke’ to take some chow from the container, and offered it to Cpl Vera. Vera ate some, handed it back to Charles, then they proceeded to eat the chow together. After Vera and Charles were eating, the other three Marines stood and ate chow. Olsen was not oblivious to what the navy shrinks would do with the group.

As Captain Olsen walked slowly towards the group, none of The Five indicated that they were aware of his approach. Sgt Starling was the most distant from Vera and Charles, and was between the captain and The Five. As Olsen stopped to stand next to Starling, the sergeant spoke without looking at the captain or turning to face the captain.

“Good evening, sir. The captain may want to get inside, as it will snow soon.”

“Hello, Sergeant. Does the team need anything?”

“Yes sir, we could use some 7.62 mil ammo.”

Captain Olsen waited for Starling to continue, but he said nothing else, and continued to look in the same direction. The only change in Starling was when he cradled his rifle slightly lower. Olsen noted that between the facement and positions of Blake and Lough, they had almost 360 degrees of coverage. He surmised that there was no reason that ‘holy men’ could not retain tactical awareness. As Olsen pivoted to walk back to his hutch, he noted the first light flurries of snow. Olsen shrugged with the non-scientific determination that ‘Holy Men’ would be closely attuned to what nature had to offer.

Olsen’s first action back in his office was to send some S-2 clerks to the scout/sniper hutch for ammo. His next action was for more selfish reasons. It was an egregious miss-use, but Olsen was close to not ever caring again. He used the sat-phone to call his contact in Landstuhl, Germany, but it was a ‘wasted’ call - no change in status. Not stable, coma, non-responsive in all ways; and the call only served to re-fuel Olsen’s despair

Olsen was more than an over-educated physics nerd. Olsen was a philosopher that had studied the history of the warrior from paleolithic times to the present. The mythic and seemingly supernatual connections that had been found in the relationships forged in combat were common side-stories for over 3000 years. And he had seen it first-hand more than once. The first observation was a super-awareness, almost ‘supernatural’, that had formed between Opie, Pistol, and Cooker. And now between Pistochini, Vera, and Charles. He did not know if this connection would be their salvation or would become an element of their demise. The captain’s string of thought was lost to an unexpected interruption.

“Good evening, Sir. May I talk to the captain?”

“Don’t you belong to G-2, Marine? What’s your name?”

“Yes sir. I am PFC Hernandez. Staff Sergeant Carlton left me here to carry the colonel’s and S-3’s security pouch back to MEF and ISAF, sir. But then things got weird...”

“So you have a clear T/S?”

“Yes sir”

“Hmm. Okay. What do you need, Marine?”

“Sir, can I go with whomever delivers the ammo to The Five?”

“Now I remember, you were the one with eyes for Charles. I do not think you understand the condition of those Five Marines. They are in shock from the combat loss of their sergeant, but remain in a super-aware, full-up combat mode. None of them, including Charles, will acknowledge your presence.”

The young Marine replied with a statement that had no signs of a desperate plea, but of a firm determination.

“Just want to see, sir.”

She appeared rational and in control to Olsen. And he probably could use help with those M14 magazines.

“Okay, Hernandez, you can help me carry ammo to the team. Do not say anything or move from my side. As we approach, stay to my side and a bit behind. And do not talk of this to anyone outside of S-2.”

“Thank you, sir. I understand. When, sir?

Olsen saw the three Marines sent to retrieve ammo entering S-2.

“In less than five minutes.”

Olsen could not believe there was any need for 50 magazines. And where the heck did they find this many M14 mags? Olsen concluded that there was no good reason for more than 30 magazines.

Light snow continued to fall. Earlier, it had melted upon contact with the deck, but it looked like there was now a few millimeters of accumulation. The light was still good enough for recognition, so Captain Olsen chose the direct route. Olsen was amused that Hernandez had fallen in step with him. He thought about how us ‘damned jarheads’ were, that they cannot help themselves. Olsen had known for many years know that he had been a willing participant in a bizarre cult that America has in the Marine Corps. And he was witnessing yet another extension of this bizarre cult.

Captain Olsen stopped and stood next to Sgt Startling.

“Good evening, sir. What can we do for the Captain?”

“Brought the 7.62 ammo. Need anything else, sergeant?”

“Thank you, sir. Nothing else at this time.”

Lough stood up, took the two bags of ammo from Olsen and Hernandez, then proceeded to place six magazines next to each Marine. Without any spoken words, Charles took six magazines and placed them in Vera’s pack, then placed six magazines in his pack. The three other marines did the same. The three ‘outside’ Marines resumed their positions that assured at least 300 degree watch coverage. The captain pondered how the Marine knew that he had provided 30 mags. Yet another mystery of The Five.

Hernandez stepped back from the captain to get a direct view of Charles. Charles continued to look to the northwest horizon, Occasionally scanning no-mans-land to the HESCOs and back. Starling was the only member of The Five that acknowledged outsiders.

Olsen stepped back to face Starling. “Have a good evening sergeant. Stay warm.”

Starling responded in a low monotone. “Aye, sir. Have a good night, sir.”

Olsen placed a hand on Hernandez’s shoulder to turn her around. They walked in silence through the light snowfall. After Capt Olsen and PFC Hernandez departed the team’s sphere of tactical influence, The Five resumed their contemplation, prayers, internal statements of hope, and empty thoughts.

Captain Olsen noted that the young Marine has lost her light gait. She was the latest to bear ‘the burden’. Olsen pointed to his office.

“Sir, from what I’ve been hearing, I sorta expected that. But I still do not understand.”

“Sit down, Marine ... The acts of combat itself; that is, the resultant, effects unusual traits and mannerisms to some people. The loss of a fellow Marine only serves to exacerbate the level of ‘strangeness’. I have seen two extremes of this resultant behavior - Staff Sergeant O’Brien and a young lieutenant that I knew. O’Brien seems, outwardly, unaffected by the most violent and deadly of combat. His typical reaction to losing a Marine is anger. And that lieutenant, he lost several of his marines about a week before the deployment was to end. His platoon, as compared to typical infantry units, had become more close than most. The Lieutenant never recovered and was never able to accept the loss. The Corps kicked him out on a medical discharge. He eventually committed suicide.”

“Will Charles recover? What will the Marine Corps do to him?”

“First we have to define ‘recovery’. Many, probably most, soldiers and Marines are permanently changed by war, but are still able to function in civil society. There are a few, where changes in personality and their response to other people, result in behavior so foreign to their society that they find ways to evade that society and live an insular and isolated life. This group is largely unable to relate to people not having a similar military experience. Do they ‘recover’? Not within the realm of behavior accepted by civil society. But, generally, they can become functional, productive people if given support and counseling and are allowed to insulate themselves from the vagaries of society.”

“Will Charles be able to stay in the Corps? He was saying that he wants to make it a career.”

“I would certainly recommend an RE1A for Lance Corporal Charles on his ‘214, but I am not his CO. The big issue is that military shrinks have a way of bringing out the worst. So if the shrinks start digging into his mind, he’ll be lucky to finish his first enlistment. At this time, there is no way to answer that.”

Olsen pulled out some water bottles from his desk drawer, offered one to Hernandez, and opened another.

“The best thing, psychologically, that can happen to Lance Corporal Charles and Corporal Vera is for them to get accepted into the platoon when this deployment ends. It is the most likely place that would provide a support structure.”

“War, sir ... Why do we do it?”

“Ah, yes ... One of the Big Questions. Humans have engaged in organized armed combat for well over ten thousand years; maybe fifty thousand years. We have records of discussions of war for over three thousand years. The innumerable reasons and explanations typically include legal, religious, technical, political, economic, genetic, and other rationale. Did you know that chimps and wolves also engage in organized warfare on their own species? We are not the only idiots on this planet that have a primitive tribal mentality.”

Olsen pulled a long draw of water, with a distant look and an air of resignation.

“What I should have said is that there is no answer to that question, other than my supposition that this planet has yet to produce a sentient species.”

“So the answer is that we are fucking idiots?”

“In a nutshell, that’s it, Marine.”

“Thank you, sir. Until I get sent back to G-2, can I continue to go with you to see The Five, sir?”

“Yes. Perhaps it may be helpful to both yourself and Charles.”

“Aye, sir. Good night.”

“Good night, Marine.”

Captain Olsen’s mind, now shifted into a morose and self-deprecating mode. He was left thinking about his participation in the warrior ethos. He thought about the mindset of TBS instruction in general, and his IOC experience in particular; where the ideal that the conduct of war should be both brutal and efficient, but also noble, was taught as a self-evident truth. Brent Olsen grimaced at the total bullshit rationalization of tribal mentality and corporate-speak.

The recovery of bodies for martyrs’ funerals was very important to most Islamic insurgent groups. The thought that there was now over 20 bodies on the ground next to the American compound burned away any rational tactical reasoning from the two Taliban leaders.

The light snow fall continued after 0100 on the eighth day. Starling remained fully awake, and he could tell that Charles was also scanning the area. Starling and Charles were the first to notice movement at the edge of no-mans-land. From The Five’s position, the two sources of movement were at about 30 degrees of angular distance. As the motion continued, Sgt Starling donned NVGs.

There were two tango groups, well armed. The starboard group appeared to have an RPG. That would have to be the first target. Starling and Charles calmly and patiently waited for the groups to move towards the illuminated area, or at least to be silhouetted by the generator lights.

Starling gently pressed his boot against Blake, whom immediately awoke. Blake, in turn placed a hand gently on Lough’s shoulder. Lough responded quickly by reaching for his rifle. As Lough and Blake were locating targets, an RPG round streamed past The Five and into the base of a HESCO about 75 meters behind them. Vera suddenly stood up and fired two rounds into the shadows at the edge of the illuminated area. Starling scanned the area that Vera had shot into and saw a prone body. Another tango ran up to the body, picked up the RPG, searched the body, then reloaded the RPG launcher. As the Tango rose and pointed the RPG, another two shots from Vera rang out and the Tango dropped the RPG and slowly crumpled to the deck. Vera sat down, returning to his serene stasis, watching the continuation of the fire fight.

As the starboard Tango group had moved to be back-lit, Starling, Lough, and Blake started to eliminate the attackers in a methodical, workman-like, and unworldly calm manner. The port haji group had drifted into the illuminated area of no-mans-land by the time they started shooting at The Five. One of the machine gun emplacements on the south HESCO started firing into the port group but were unable to hit anyone, but were successful in suppressing the tangos’ fire volume.

The starboard group was becoming more active with their AKs when the RPG was apparently disabled. Starling and Lough focused on the AK flashes and shot the remaining members of that group. Turning to the port group, Starling and Lough found that most of that group were now firing from prone or kneeling positions.

In less than fifteen minutes after the first RPG round was fired, the attackers were all dead or wounded. Starling ejected the magazine from his rifle, inserted another, then starting walking towards the bodies of the latest attackers. As Charles stood up, Vera handed him his M9. Charles followed Sgt Starling to the latest insurgents’ bodies.