Chapter 48: Fort Bragg Redux

There was one other guy in the class, Clarence Bodecker, going to Fort Bragg, assigned to the 321^st Field Artillery, and thankfully, he didn’t have a car. I dug him up and made a deal, I would rent the cargo van and carry both our gear, if he would drive my car. He didn’t have all that much crap, but he had no way to get it there, and I needed to move and drive a car. This way Marilyn wouldn’t have to fly out and do the cross-country trip again. We were to report in on Monday, December 5 ^th, so we had about a week after graduation to drive there.

It’s a simple drive, although it takes fucking forever. Oklahoma City to Little Rock to Memphis to Birmingham to Atlanta to Columbia to Fayetteville. Interstates most of the way, although we had to take US-78 between Memphis and Birmingham (which really sucked - terrible road!) We could do it in two long days of driving; instead, it took us five! We drove the first day to Little Rock, at which point Clarence decided we needed to stop, and he got drunk in the motel bar. We spent the day in Little Rock while Clarence got over his hangover, and then on Day Three drove to Atlanta. We had an encore performance of Clarence’s drinking problems that evening and ended up spending Day Four in Atlanta while he recuperated. Day Five we made it to Fayetteville, and by then I had decided that if I ever was in an airplane with Clarence, I would unhook his static line!

That Saturday I found a storage locker and moved most of my stuff in there, while retaining what I wanted for the BOQ in the back of the Impala. I kept my mouth shut with Clarence while we moved our gear and got rid of the panel van, and then we made our way back to the motel. He had me drop him off at a used car lot on the way back. At that point I politely cut him loose, in the fervent but silent hope we would never run across each other again.

Since I wasn’t really an impressionable young kid who couldn’t figure out how to scratch his ass, I knew a lot more about airborne operations than the average second john. What I knew did not fill me with confidence. I wondered just how much of a hole I had dug for myself by earning my jump wings.

The 82^nd Airborne Division is probably the most famous and exclusive division in the US Army. Most of the time it is called an ‘elite’ division. When there is an article in the paper or on the news, it’s not referred to as ‘the 82^nd Airborne Division’, it’s referred to as ‘the elite 82^nd Airborne Division.’ They should have trademarked the name and charged to use the phrase. You can’t even apply to join unless you’ve graduated from jump school, and a lot of the time, the feeling is that if they want you, they’ll let you know. I’m not sure what I was doing there, other than the fact that I had jump school under my belt. Maybe they needed another cannon cocker. Otherwise, I was just another very young and very junior officer.

It was certainly very flattering to be honored with entry into this famed institution, but I knew too much about airborne operations to be comfortable with it. The fact of the matter is that paratroop operations are very questionable at best. The 82^nd and the 101^st brag about how they helped win D-Day by dropping into France ahead of everybody else, and tying up German operations, but the history of the Normandy invasion shows quite a different result. Yes, they tied up the Germans, but they suffered horrible losses and casualties, and the Germans they allegedly tied up were actually held back by the orders of Hitler. Throughout the war, airborne operations were plagued by high casualties and questionable results. D-Day, Sicily, Market-Garden, Crete, Finland - they all had the same mixed results.

Looked at from a cost-benefit analysis viewpoint, paratroop operations were remarkably inefficient! If the entire idea is to deliver infantry troops in an organized and effective manner capable of quickly commencing combat operations, the airborne fails in almost every regard. When guys jump out of a lot of airplanes, their groups get mixed up, they land all over creation, there’s a lot of injuries, and the troops that land are predominately light infantry troops without a lot of armor or artillery support.

On the other hand, there are those who argue that some of those same operations were saved by airborne troops, and that some of the other operations failed because of other reasons. That’s why other people than me wear stars and get paid the big bucks. No matter who’s right, the paratroopers take a beating, no matter what!

Consider instead that rather than invest the hundreds of millions of dollars it cost to develop airborne capability during World War II, perhaps a better investment would have been heavy armor (a better tank than the Sherman would have been a Godsend!) or increased numbers of fighter-bombers. The same argument could also be made of long-range heavy bombers like the Flying Fortress, which took horrendous losses and could barely hit a target the size of a city.

On the plus side, airborne capability is a must for special operations troops. Special Forces, the Rangers, and Delta Force all draw heavily on troopers who learned their trade in the 82^nd. Likewise, the techniques learned at Bragg and Benning’s jump school influence the Navy SEALs and Marine Force Recon. As infantry, paratroopers are superb, the best in the world. Further, the 82^nd was set up so that at least part of the division could be airborne inside of two hours and anywhere on the planet inside of twenty-four. When the President decided that some jackass somewhere was acting too big for his britches, he had the ability to send them directly to his Presidential Palace at a moment’s notice and stick a lot of very nasty and heavily armed people up said jackass’ rectum.

To compensate for the fact that once they’re on the ground the troopers are basically leg infantry, the Army has figured out how to also parachute in a variety of heavy support for them. They can drop artillery, trucks, jeeps, and even tanks. Well, tanks don’t airdrop so well, they tend to be too heavy to parachute and tend to fall straight to the ground and make a huge mess when they crash. The Army even developed a special lightweight tank, the Sheridan, with aluminum armor that didn’t work all that great, and even it was a touch too heavy to drop by parachute. What they developed instead was a LAPES system, a Low Altitude Parachute Extraction System, where they strapped a tank to a pallet in the back of a cargo plane, and then flew that plane down a runway or a road, inches off the ground. At the proper moment, they toss a chute out the back of the bird and it drags the pallet with the tank on it out the ass of the airplane. It’s still damn exciting, but it’s a lot safer than trying to drop it from a parachute.

Still, the absolute last thing the airborne wants to do is to actually have to jump out of an airplane! The perfect operation would have just a small detachment of pure paratroopers, like Rangers or a parachute infantry company, drop onto an enemy airport and seize control before the bad guys know what’s going on. Then the rest of us swoop in fifteen minutes later, before the bad guys have a chance to have an argument with our guys, and drop off everybody else, in perfect working order and no injuries. They walk off the airplanes just like they walked on, organized, safe, and combat ready. AIRBORNE!

I was to report for duty at 0900, so I drove in at 0830 and followed the road signs to In-Processing. As an artilleryman, I was assigned to Division Artillery, a brigade-level command including the 1^st Battalion, 319^th Airborne Field Artillery Regiment, ‘1^st of the 319^th’ as it was called and two other battalions with different numbers. I had been to Bragg twice before, during ROTC training, but they don’t bring you near the real army, so I got a bit lost and almost ended up in the wrong building. Bragg is huge, with headquarters for the 82 ^nd, the XVIII^th Airborne Corps, 1^st Corps Support Command, and several HQ elements for units stationed elsewhere. I found the right place, parked in a visitor’s spot, and went inside.

Back when I got my orders for the 319^th, I also got a packet from my future owners. It had a variety of letters, mostly form letters welcoming me to the 82^nd and the 319^th, but there was one I needed to read for sure. When I got to the Replacement Company at DivArty, I was to dig up my ‘sponsor’. It was a lot like visiting any big company, in that you go up to a counter and ask where to go, although in this case most of the people are wearing fatigues and jump boots. At the Replacement Company a phone call was made to my ‘sponsor’, a first lieutenant already in the 319^th. He came along and greeted me. “Welcome, my name is Stinson. I’ll help run you through and get you where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He smiled and nodded. “You can cut the sir’s down to one every hour or so. My first name is Jack. Welcome to the Replacement Company. You belong to them for a few days. They will process you into the system.” He then handed me a garrison cap with an Airborne flash and a butterbar on it. “Lose the bus driver’s hat. We wear cunt caps in the Airborne.” The fore-and-aft, or garrison, cap is known to one and all as the cunt cap, because that’s what it looks like from a certain angle. I settled it on my head, and he smiled. “Airborne!”

I laughed and gave the proper return - “All the way!”

I was turned over to a Spec 4, along with a very thorough check-in list. I really was going to belong to him for the next week! There was a lot of paperwork, I had to get a BOQ assignment, get a medical check (healthy), a dental check (one cavity), finance department (payroll details), and legal (up to date will). I also saw the MP office, got an orientation lecture with a few other butterbars, learned about Fayetteville and the history of the area and the Airborne. Surprisingly, I never saw Clarence Bodecker; he was either at a different Replacement Company, or he was nursing another hangover.

The worst part was the shot line. The 82^nd is ready to deploy at a moment’s notice anywhere in the world. Because of that, everybody needs to be inoculated against every disease known to mankind! Said diseases included, but were not limited to, cholera, typhoid fever, yellow fever, dengue fever, and bubonic plague! Personally, I think the theory is that if they don’t make you sick, then you can become a paratrooper. I spent the next day as sick as a dog, but still had to go through with my orientation procedure. For real fun, I was informed that this was a requirement once a quarter. I was pretty sure that Harlan, at Fort Hood, had a better deal going on! This would become a recurring event.

One week later, Stinson grabbed me as I finished with the Replacement Company, and it was time to join the 319^th. First, we reported to DivArty, and processed me in there, and then from DivArty we went to the 319^th, where we repeated the process. Then a captain found us, and looked us over, then turned to me. “Reporting in, Lieutenant?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, follow me. You can make your manners to the colonel.” He came around the counter and we followed him down the hallway to a closed door. He knocked on the door, and at the muffled, ‘Come!’, from the other side, he turned the knob. “You’re on!” he said with a smile.

We marched into the office, and I saw a lieutenant colonel sitting at a desk. On the desk was a small sign saying, ‘Lieutenant Colonel Marchlight.’ Both Stinson and I marched and came to attention, and saluted, and then I said, “SECOND LIEUTENANT BUCKMAN, CARLING P., REPORTING FOR DUTY, SIR!”

The colonel smiled at the captain for a moment and then looked back at me. He waved a hand sketchily in the direction of his forehead and said, “As you were, Lieutenant.” Then he pointed at some chairs and said, “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

The captain, Stinson, and I grabbed chairs and brought them to the desk, and sat down. The captain spoke first, “Lieutenant Buckman is reporting in, sir.”

Lieutenant Colonel Marchlight grunted, and said, “Welcome to the 1 ^st of the 319^th. Just finished at Sill, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir, just over two weeks ago, sir.”

“You his sponsor, Stinson?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Stinson. That was the only time Stinson was asked anything or responded in the meeting.

Marchlight nodded again. He looked over at the captain, named Hudson by the nametag on his uniform. “What’s the plan for Lieutenant Buckman?”

Captain Hudson replied, “Bravo Battery, sir.”

Marchlight grunted and gave a touch of a distasteful look, and said, “Well, they need you, that’s for sure. Battery B is Captain Harris’ outfit. What was your ranking at Sill?”

“Top of my class, sir.” The colonel glanced over at Hudson, who shuffled through some papers in a file and just nodded.

“Well, you’ll do well, then. Captain Hudson will sort you out and take you over there. Just learn your job and do it well, and we’ll never have a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Now, I know they teach you that after checking in, at some point you’re supposed to visit my home and be social. You may consider that done.”

“Yes, sir. Airborne!”

He nodded at Hudson again, who stood up and signaled for me to do the same. Stinson popped up as well. We put our chairs back where they were, and the colonel shook my hand before dismissing us.

Once we were back out in the hallway, Captain Hudson said, “Okay, that’s done. I’m the S-1, by the way. What’s going to happen next is that I will introduce you to your new boss.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come along.”

We left the building and walked two buildings back, to another building. I followed Hudson inside and into an office. He immediately said, “As you were,” and nobody got up. “Captain Harris available?” he asked to nobody in particular.

A Spec 4 answered, “Let me check, sir.” He went to an office and knocked, and then opened the door without waiting for an answer. He mumbled something, and then stepped back. “Go on in, Captain.”

“Thank you.” He motioned me after him and I repeated my reporting-in salute with Captain Harris. We went through the same rigmarole, in which Harris welcomed me to the battery. After the last week I was looking forward to being in my battery. So far, I had simply been shuffling paper.

If I thought I was going to start working in Battery B immediately, I was promptly disabused of this notion. It was back to school for me! I was to go to Jumpmaster School almost immediately, which I had never even heard of until now. Jumpmaster School was supposed to teach me everything I needed to know to be an expert in jumping out of an airplane. I thought that was what Jump School was supposed to do, but what did I know; I was a just a dumbass second john. It seemed that all officers and noncoms (at least at the sergeant on up levels) must qualify as a jumpmaster to be considered qualified. Captain Harris turned me over to Lieutenant Brimley, who in turn dumped me onto the battalion’s S-3. I did five jumps by the end of the week, and that qualified me for the two-week Jumpmaster School.

To be current as a paratrooper, you need to make at least one jump every three months. What surprised the hell out of me was how they did it - by chopper! The first time it happened I was trucked out to a drop zone, where I was handed a chute and loaded into a Chinook. The CH-47 is a heavy lift helicopter powerful enough to carry howitzers in a belly sling, and large enough to carry several dozen fully equipped paratroopers. This was my first jump from a chopper, and the first time I did it, I asked why. I was told that it was quite common. For one thing, when the Air Force dropped Army paratroopers, the Army had to pay the Air Force for the privilege, and the accounting was a nightmare. If the Army drops the guys, it’s a whole lot simpler. Furthermore, since the chopper is moving at a much slower speed, and can pick and hover over good drop zones, it’s a whole lot safer for the troops. Operationally, it’s a lot like jumping from a Herky-Bird - they drop the back ramp, and you take a short walk with a really big last step.

Jumpmaster School teaches you how to send other people out the door. You learn to give jump commands and run a jump. The big thing is to be able to inspect a jumper visually in about a minute and make sure they can jump safely, without killing themselves and everybody else in the process. I passed, which most don’t, at least not on the first go, and was sent back to the battery the third week in January.

That next Monday morning I returned to Battery B. Once there, the same Spec 4 who had showed Hudson and me into Captain Harris’ office, greeted me and told me to take a seat. Captain Harris was in a meeting and would be out in a few minutes. He pointed at a sidebar and said, “Coffee, sir?”

The curse of the modern military is coffee. It runs on it even more than fuel! If we ever invade Colombia, it won’t be because of drugs, it will because Juan Valdez decided to fuck with the coffee! Unfortunately, I can’t stand coffee! Tea is fine, but rare on an army base. Coffee is everything! “No thank you, Specialist.” I sat down on an empty plastic office chair and picked up a week-old copy of the Paraglide, the base newspaper, and started reading.

About forty minutes later the door to the office at the side opened, and a first lieutenant, a second lieutenant, and a couple of sergeants came out, none of whom looked overly happy. I immediately rose to my feet. Captain Harris looked out his door and saw me, and then glanced over at the clerk, Specialist 4 Jones by the name sewn on his fatigues. He said, “The Lieutenant is back with us, sir.”