Shadow Warriors: Inside the Special Forces sic-3 Read online

  Carl Stiner continues:

  Once a soldier has completed the Ranger Course, he knows down to the tips of his fingers what his capabilities and limitations are. He has not only mastered the skills required of a small-unit leader in combat, but he also has the confidence and skills necessary to survive there. I have always trusted a Ranger-qualified officer or NCO to lead patrols for me in combat or any other tough situation, because I knew he had the skills necessary to accomplish the mission and would "take care" of those entrusted to his leadership in the right way.

  These experiences do not only apply to junior officers, they become the essential underpinnings of competence through all the ranks and assignments of an Army career-particularly command. They give an understanding of a man's capabilities and limitations that comes in no other way, and they develop self-confidence in ways not otherwise possible.

  You have to be made of the right stuff to do it successfully. In practice it means that you go day and night; you get very little sleep; you are exhausted; you may get shin splints; you're strung out; you are in swamps; you're in mountains; you're cold; you're wet; you might be exposed to frostbite or hypothermia; or else you're hot; you're thirsty; you learn to live off the land and eat what's available. You learn to depend on each other. Although each man is expected to master individual skills, and in all field operations you usually operate in squad- and platform-size units, you take care of each other. From day one you are assigned a "Ranger buddy." In other words, if your buddy should fall out, you are expected to carry him — or fall out trying.

  Under these conditions, there's no place for the limp-wristed or faint of heart.

  THE FORT BENNING PHASE

  The basic objective of the Benning phase was to learn the fundamentals of patrolling: the essentials of planning; opcrations orders; selecting primary and alternate routes, assembly areas, rallying points, passage of lines, actions at the objectives; and above all the value of rehearsals. You did it over and over until you got it right.

  The first two weeks were focused on heavy-duty physical training — log drills, endurance runs, hand-to-hand combat, the bayonet assault course, and the obstacle course. It was also during this phase that we were introduced to a new form of PT—"rope football." We played this in a sawdust pit of not more than sixty feet in diameter. The class was divided into two teams of about fifty men, who'd go down in a football stance facing each other about three feet apart. In between the teams was dropped a knotted ball of cable rope that weighed something like fifty pounds. The object of the game was to move the ball to the other side of the pit. Anything went. There were no time-outs, no fouls or penalties for unsportsmanlike conduct. You scratched, clawed, climbed over, or did whatever else you had to do to win. The penalty for losing was seventy-five or a hundred push-ups.

  We also did a lot of rope work — learning the different knots and how to build different kinds of rope bridges — and we did a lot of rope climbing. There were two objectives here: to learn the different ways to climb a rope, and to build upper-body strength.

  Another important element was advanced land navigation. Soldiers have to be expert navigators — to be able to get to where they are going when they are not familiar with the territory — and they have to do it quickly under the worst circumstances. Nowadays we have global positioning systems to make navigating easier, and these do give us an enormous advantage, but there is no substitute for a map in the hands of a good map reader and a compass in the hands of a good navigator. If you have these, and if all the electronic wizardry fails, you still have all you need to find out where you are and to keep you on course.

  Also critical to the team is a good pace man, who keeps an accurate count of how much distance you have covered. He has to be able to consistently step a yard or meter with each normal step. Then he keeps count of the pace. One way to do it is by moving a small stone from one pocket to another every time he has gone a hundred paces. Another technique is to tie a knot in a string for each hundred paces. There are any number of techniques, of course, but the point is the same: You have to have a system to ensure that the count is not lost (or forgotten) should the patrol be ambushed.

  Finally, we were taught every fundamental about patrolling: the different kinds of patrols (reconnaissance, combat, raids, ambushes, etc.), the organizations of each type of patrol, the patrol order, selecting routes, actions at danger areas, and action upon reaching the objective. During the Benning phase, we rehearsed many times over our patrolling techniques.

  THE FLORIDA PHASE

  We left Fort Benning early on a Saturday morning in October on buses headed to the Florida Ranger Camp on Eglin Air Force Base. Few of us remembered much about the trip, which took most of the day, because we slept as much as we could.

  Near the Florida state line, a member of the Ranger cadre woke us up to put us in the right frame of mind. He read us a "general situation": "The United States is at war," he told us. "And we have entered a mythical country" — I've forgotten its name—"as a replacement unit." From here on out, everything was to be a tactical simulation of real war—tactical twenty-four hours each and every day.

  When we reached our Florida destination, our accommodations were austere — tents that accommodated twenty-four men each, canvas cots, no floors, a World War II-type mess hall, a small arms room, and a small aid station manned by a single medic. This didn't bother me; it was obvious that we wouldn't be spending much time there (and this would be luxury compared with where we were going).

  About half an hour after we arrived, we were given an alert order to be prepared to move out within two hours on our first reconnaissance patrol. Our mission: to reconnoiter a possible enemy missile site. When we moved out, we moved directly into the swamps into water up to our waists. We were there for the next three days and nights.

  This turned out to be the norm for the entire training — constant patrolling, constant raids, constant ambushes… and always wet and cold. You don't normally think of Florida as cold. But in October, that's what it can get if you are constantly wet, even in Florida.

  As a part of the Florida phase, we were given special instructions on "survival": how to catch and prepare food; what to eat and what not to eat (which wild plants and berries were safe, which weren't): and we were given chickens, rabbits, alligators, opossums, raccoons, and snakes that we had to prepare for some day's "feast."

  We learned a lot about snakes. They were all over the place, particularly coral snakes and water moccasins. One day the cadre brought out what seemed to be a wagonload of snakes (nonpoisonous!) and passed them among us (we were sitting on logs). They started with one or two at a time, but that soon turned into armloads of six or eight. We got familiarized with snakes in a hurry.

  Another challenge was the confidence course — an inverted crawl on ropes hanging forty feet above murky, over-our-heads water, with explosives in the water going off constantly. At some point on the rope, we'd be told to drop into the water and swim to dry land about a hundred feet away — with the explosives still going off.

  During the three weeks, we only saw base camp, our tent, and the mess hall about four or five times. At other times we ate food provided by "partisans" (that is, if we linked up with them at the designated place and time — we didn't always do that); and it was usually live chickens, rabbits, or even a goat.

  We didn't get much sleep either. I was one of the designated "sleep keepers." That meant I had to keep a record of whatever sleep 1 was able to get that was more than thirty minutes. As I recall, at the end of seventeen days, my records indicated it totalled eight hours and ten minutes.

  I've always loved the outdoors. I really enjoy the wilderness and its challenges. So, acute discomforts aside — the constant wet and cold and lack of steep — I really enjoyed the Florida phase. I had never been in a really big swamp, especially one as treacherous and challenging as the Okefenokee. The Yellow River runs right through it — very swift, deep, and dangerous. You can easily
blunder into it, especially at night, without knowing it. That is, you can be wading up to your waist in standing swamp water, and then bam, you're in the river, swift, strong, and deep, cutting right through the still water. It's dangerous!

  When the three weeks were over, most of us who'd started were still hanging in and looking forward to the next phase, though some had been eliminated — for attitude, lack of motivation, physical failure, or whatever: the rest of us never really knew why. You knew somebody'd been eliminated when you saw a student standing out at the end of Flight Strip Number 7, which was located near our base camp, with his bag packed, waiting for the plane from Fort Benning, which came about every three days. He stayed there by himself until the plane came. I can't imagine how humiliating this must have been. At least it would have been terrible for me.

  THE MOUNTAIN PHASE

  We came in from our last patrol in Florida at midafternoon on a Saturday, finished our patrol debriefings, and began to clean and turn in the weapons and equipment that would remain at the campsite. After a big meal in the mess hall we hit the sack somewhere around midnight — dry for a change — for much-needed sleep.

  At about 0300 Sunday morning, the Ranger cadre came running through the camp yelling: "Formation in ten minutes. Fall out with all your gear, prepared to move out."

  We jumped out of the sack (having slept in our fatigues), quickly put on our dry pair of boots, rolled up our sleeping bags (which stayed with the cot), put on our Ranger web gear (harness), and fell in at our appointed place in a company formation. The camp commander, a major, positioned himself before the formation and announced, "There has been a major enemy breakthrough in the northern part of the operational area." — northern Georgia—"You are to move out immediately as much-needed reinforcements in that sector of the combat zone." Buses arrived ten minutes later, and we set out for northern Georgia.

  I don't remember much about that trip, because we slept most of the way. But I do remember that at about noon the buses pulled into a Howard Johnson's restaurant somewhere in central Georgia (no doubt arrangements had been made in advance), and an announcement was made: "We will be here one hour. This is your last chance to eat before arriving at the front."

  I will never forget the surprised look of the families there, obviously just out of church services, when we stormed into the place wearing our camouflage paint and fatigues. It did not take them long, though, to recognize who we were, especially when the Ranger lieutenant accompanying us announced, "Rangers, you have fifty minutes until you go back on the buses."

  I don't know how it was possible to serve so many in such a short time, but the restaurant staff managed it, and we were all well fed.

  Back on the buses and back to sleep again.

  At about 1600 hours, the buses pulled off the highway where a gravel road ran off into the woods and several empty two-and-a-half-ton trucks were parked. A Ranger captain was standing in the middle of the road. As soon as we'd dismounted and formed up in front of him, he advised that it was not safe to take the buses any farther because of enemy infiltration teams in the area. We would have to take the trucks. He also indicated that the beds of the trucks had been sandbagged and that we should be prepared for ambush. Since we didn't have any weapons, we were glad to see two armed guards with each truck. Even though we didn't have our individual weapons, we had rehearsed counteraimbush drills from a truck or convoy many times, so we knew what to do.

  We had probably gone no more than five miles until we were ambushed by a platoon of dug-in "enemy." Of course, it was all explosives and blank fire, but they really shot us up good. We quickly dismounted and dived in a ditch alongside the road. When the smoke had cleared, we were assembled back on the road and told that our trucks had been destroyed and that we would have to run the rest of the way — about five miles and mostly uphill.

  At the base camp (it was in a beautiful spot, as it happened), we were fed a great evening meal — all we could eat. Then we drew our weapons and individual equipment and squared away our sleeping tents. As in Florida, we wouldn't see much of them for the next three weeks.

  The next morning started with rappelling instruction, which was conducted under Master Sergeant Stinchcomb, who knew more about rock climbing and rappelling, and about ropes and how to use them, than any man I have ever met.

  First we learned how to tie every knot needed for Hanger-type operations. Then we trained in rappelling until we'd mastered all the rappelling techniques — first on the lower cliffs (thirty to fifty feet) and then on higher ones (sixty to eighty feet). Finally, we were required to rappel with our Ranger buddy hanging on our back.

  After the rock work, there was instruction in the mountain adaptations to already learned skills, such as land navigation, wilderness survival, and operational survival.

  Though the basic land navigation techniques still applied, keeping track of distances traveled in rugged mountainous terrain is more complex and challenging than on level ground. You can never be sure of the length of your pace, for example.

  Then came instruction on wilderness survival. In the mountains, the snakes arc different than the ones in Florida — copperheads and rattlesnakes rather than water moccasins and coral snakes. And in the mountains you don't find the same edible plants and berries that you do in the swamps.

  We also got instruction on avoiding detection. We were taught to stay away from danger areas, such as roads and built-up areas (towns, houses, etc.), and how to cross danger areas (open fields and roads) without being observed.

  We also patrolled, day and night, just as in Florida. But the rough terrain and heavy loads (like machine guns) some patrol members had to carry made a big difference, requiring more careful planning of patrol routes and more time for reaching the objective.

  As was the case throughout the entire Ranger instruction program, every patrol had to be planned and rehearsed in every detail to ensure that it would go right, and every student had to know every detail of the plan. Although a patrol leader and assistant patrol leader were designated in advance, you never knew when you may be called on to be the patrol leader — most usually in the most demanding situations, such as the middle of a firefight. A member of the Ranger cadre (called a lane grader) accompanied every patrol. This was usually a first lieutenant or a senior NCO, but sometimes both, depending on the size of the patrol. Their job was to evaluate the performance of every member of the patrol, and to be present in case of an emergency or life-threatening situation.

  Meanwhile, the aggressors (the bad guys) were all over the place, knew the terrain better than we did, and had co-opted most of the civilians that lived in the area, which meant we could not trust anyone.

  The weather became a major factor in early December.

  Our last patrol was to be a long-range combat patrol to simulate the "blowup" of the Toccoa Dam, which was about fifty or sixty miles from our base area. Before we left there'd been reports of bad weather coming in — all the more reason to go.

  Our platoon-size patrol (about forty men) was infiltrated late one evening by helicopter to a landing zone about three miles south of the Toccoa River and thirty miles upstream from the dam. As we moved quickly to the river, night was falling and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Because of the cold, the patrol leader decided that we would construct and cross on a three-rope bridge, and that way keep dry.

  Though the water was up to his neck in some places and running pretty fast, the designated swimmer waded to the other side without incident, dragging the main rope as he went. He attached it to a tree and came back for the two smaller ropes that would serve as the handrails. Once he had dragged these over, it did not take us long to make the bridge ready to go, and we began to cross.

  Maybe ten people had made it to the other side when we were ambushed by a squad-sized enemy element from the far side of the river (no doubt the aggressor had been given the location of our crossing site). This was the most vulnerable position we could possibly have been in.
We had very little ability to defend ourselves.

  The only safe thing the patrol leader could do was order everybody into the water and have them quickly wade to the other side.

  The firefight didn't last long, but most of us were wet by then, and it was snowing — really coming down. As the patrol regrouped and we headed out on our route, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped even more, and somewhere around midnight, our clothing began to freeze. At this point, the Ranger lane grader (a staff sergeant) told the patrol leader to start running the patrol in order to minimize the possibility of hypothermia — a wise decision!

  An hour or so later, the snow was maybe four inches deep, and a few of the students began to lose it, my buddy among them. He dropped down in the snow and started begging for someone to knock his brains out with an entrenching tool. He was a strong, determined officer, and I knew he didn't mean what he was saying. And besides, we weren't even carrying entrenching tools.

  I had a notion to try to carry him, but 1 instantly realized that wouldn't work, because I already had the.30-caliber machine gun to lug. I slapped him to try to bring him back to his senses, and he came out of it enough to raise himself to his knees. But that wasn't enough. The patrol was running off and leaving us. I knew I had to get him moving somehow before they got too far ahead of us, so I gave him a good kick in the rear. He got up, staggered, mumbled something, started trotting, and then started running again. I kept him in front of me, prodding him, until daybreak, when he snapped out of it. Though he went down two or three more times, the same treatment worked each time. (Later he had no recollection of that night.)