News this morning at The Farm was received under partly cloudy skies and a sun we had not seen in days. The external stuff featured alarming economic news, and the beginning of some major changes in US monetary policy. Behind it are competing information streams, both carefully managed between pro-anti positions in the Ukraine litany of horrors. Splash had just witnessed the video of an ambush on Russian armor paused in a Ukrainian village. It prompted some family recollections worth considering in the context of ground combat:

“I had a brother in armored cavalry in Germany. He said the key to training was integrating with your infantry, the guys who suppressed enemy fire. The critical point was knowing what is around you, staying alert, keeping an eye on the world around you every single second… He would tell me of these exercises they held that were just debilitating. You could never rest. He was a platoon leader and rose to company Executive Officer, so he knew first hand at the tactical level of combat. He said that once you were “in the field, on the move” the CO, XO, company first sergeant, and the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants did not sleep. You want to know why this is a brutal thing? They stayed alert with coffee and chewing tobacco, staying wired, staying awake, keeping the troops moving, searching and watching, and never letting any possible enemy firing position go unchecked.”

The rest of us mostly had seen combat from the relative safety of a ship underway, big busy machines launching aircraft. DeMille knew it from the relative safety of being submerged. Our threats were things first detected- or not- by mines, submarines and incoming missiles. Not the same for the situation on the ground, boots squishing in mud and patches of snow.

Loma had flown the missions against forces on the ground in Iraq. He said: “One of the techniques the ground-pounders had adopted from WWII was that the tank commander always keeps his head out of the turret. That meant you had to have a screen of soldiers to suppress snipers, since the commander has to be able to see anyone shooting anti-tank weapons of any kind. The commander always had a round in the main gun. If anyone in the screen of infantry saw an AT round, the procedure was to scream a threat vector, like: “2 O’Clock – fire!”

He paused and took a swig of coffee cooling in his mug. He frowned. “Then, the turret on the tank would pivot and shoot, no aim. The intent was to make the guy with the rocket simply flinch. No time for analysis. If the enemy is firing a wire guided round, that flinch will put the round into the dirt.If not, you are going to absorb the incoming ordnance. And die.”

Splash grimaced. “You gotta realize this is all split seconds between doing “okay” and getting killed in concussion and flames. You had to push, push, push and never rest when near anything that could hide a shooter. And, as my brother said, “It is a young man’s sport” – very physically demanding. You were always exhausted, and as soon as someone said you could relax, you got the vehicles field and loaded, and then you napped. And if you had air opposition, human or drone, you were in constant contact.”

DeMille shook his head slowly. “Let’s remember what this is like for those who are doing it. Ot being subjected to it. Well or badly. And for our ground-pounders, keep their coffee hot, the supply lines running and the courage strong.”

The Writer’s Section was still, remembering the nature of the beast. And praying for peace.

Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
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