CSM Roc takes the Commander into his office. No need for the troops to see this. The CO settles into his chair for what will be nothing but bad news. He is wondering why he wasn’t informed at first, is his senior enlisted shielding him, or keeping him out of the loop? He will listen objectively; this man deserves the benefit of the doubt so when he is ready he simply says, “Report.”
“Sir,” Roc starts off respectfully, “The information we have so far is that a Specialist from Charlie company is in a Seattle Hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. Information is still coming in, but what we know is that he was with two other soldiers that are at this time unaccounted for. He passed off the card to a nurse in the emergency room. I have accounted for most of the soldiers in the Battalion, with everyone coming in except those in the Seattle area in case we need to stage a group or to gather intel.”
The Commander is hard to read, so he continues, “with all due respect Sir, the more you know the less deniability you have. This goes for all officers. You have careers, the enlisted can just say they are following orders. Unless they make an E-10 rank, this is as far as I can get. You might want to consider sitting this one out.”
That is how any good Non Commissioned Officer would handle it. Give the commander options. He can know that Roc will take care of the situation, and he can be insulated from the fallout. He doesn’t say anything at first, just contemplating what his options are. After a while he says, “Send in the officers.”
With that, Roc salutes and leaves. When this goes to court-martial, and this most likely will, he wants to remember his last salute before he had to appear before the board. This is a good one, saluting a man he has known and served with for a very long time. Your last salute should be to someone you respect above all others.
On his way out to the waiting soldiers he sees a man in a black flight suit strolling up. He has the unconcerned swagger of a Chief Warrant Officer. CSM Roc doesn’t even have to see his face to know who it is. There are two things that are ever present with this guy. He is popping gum and carrying a spill proof metal coffee mug. No one has ever seen him put gum in, so maybe he has been chewing the same piece for the past three years, and that coffee mug just might be permanently attached to his left hand.
Chief Warrant Officer 4 Lancer is the typical flight Warrant. He gets the best of both worlds, the respect of NCOs, and gets saluted. The pay is better and he gets to fly all the time. He gets paid to play, and you can’t beat that. Warrant Officers usually have the confidence, but lack the arrogance of other fliers. They have nothing to prove, considered “subject matter experts” they call each other by first names and keep it as relaxed as possible. Flight Warrants don’t have troops, either to lead, or set an example for so their lives truly are cake.
“Sup Sarent Major,” he drawls in his lazy style. Calling him Sar-ent because Sergeant is too long.
“What are you doing here Chief,” Roc asks, overlooking the name change.
“Ranger down,” he says taking a sip, “I came.”
Helicopter pilots and Rangers have had an unspoken agreement that was cemented In the Vietnam War. If a pilot ever went down he knew that the Rangers would come get him, and if a Ranger was ever in trouble, he knew that pilots would fly through anything to get him out. Both will do all they can to get the other out alive, but if that isn’t possible, they will bring a body out so your family has something to bury back home.
“Not sure you want a piece of this Chief, might get a little sticky…legalwise.”
“Okay stop with the hard sell, I’m in,” he replies smiling. “Unfortunately I have a chopper already stowed in the C-17 for travel as part of the Red Cycle; however I can give you one Chinook and two Blackhawks right now. I can wake up more if you need.”
As they walk out the door Roc hears first, then sees a Blackhawk helicopter maneuvering from the hanger to real estate on the airfield nearest to the Ranger Battalion. “I love chopper jocks,” Roc mutters to himself.
First Sergeant Carver clearly is not pleased. As the First Sergeant of Bravo Company it was his unit’s responsibility to be on Red Cycle. If anything happened they should be able to have a formation within an hour, be wheels up in two hours and anywhere in the world in eighteen hours, ready to fight. This ragtag group in front of him is a disappointment. While it is true that Red Cycle comes and goes without anything happening, but rules are rules, and some of his troops have obviously been drinking. His first order is to separate them.
“Whoever has been drinking is to go to the dayroom and sleep it off. If you leave right now, I will not recommend Article 15 punishment. If you lie and jeopardize lives, I guarantee full punishment under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”
When put that simply, several men step out of formation. It looks bad, but not as bad as being a private tomorrow. Or getting a buddy killed.
“Wright,” Carver calls after the group identifying the ranking member, “take charge, they can get poncho liners and that is it. They will not leave the day room until ordered too, understand?”
“Roger First Sergeant,” is wisely all he says. This is one order he doesn’t dare screw up.
Command Sergeant Major Roc comes up behind Carver and whispers, “I want their shit out of my rooms and I want them out of my Battalion before they wake up. Their platoon sergeants will report to me when this is all over.
Sergeant Jordan hobbles over to Roc to give him a message, as usual the ones on duty are either screw ups or injured. Jordan broke his ankle on a jump a few weeks ago. Like a good troop he has yet to complain about it, like most Rangers he would rather be out in the woods blowing shit up rather than sitting behind a desk. The sight of him inspires Roc.
“Get every brokedick on the chopper,” he bellows to the assembled leaders. They are going to a hospital after all. “They will wear civies and concealed pistols.”
That is when everyone knows this is real. They are going somewhere armed. Finally he addresses the assembled men. With no officers in the crowd he keeps it informal.
“Here is the situation, Specialist Brown from C CO has been shot. As soon as he is stabilized, they are going to operate. He was with two buddies, neither is accounted for. Your first priority is to protect Brown, then we will find the others. This is a no-shit operation. Deadly force is authorized according to standard rules of engagement.”
After letting that sink in, he passes out assignments. “Bravo Company will take point as a quick reaction force and establish a beachhead at the hospital. Alpha will follow on and set up a more static TOC, Charlie and Delta will prep and relieve them later. Headquarter platoons will get instructions individually. RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!!”
“HOOAH!!!!” The collected mass responds and with that, they are in motion.
Specialist Chong followed the instructions to the letter. As a native he knew the fastest way to the hospital, however he was slowed by the shower he had to take. As ordered the senior man took charge. Since most do not go to the city to party with a weapon they are unarmed. But without guns, Rangers still aren’t defenseless. Some blend into the crowd, others wait for the reinforcements that will arrive soon.
As the only medic assembled he is the one who enters the OR when Brown is wheeled in. He thought that he could sneak in with the “acquired” scrubs, but most doctors know who is on their staff and who should be in the room.
“Who are you,” he demands.
“Specialist Chong Sir,” he answers with respect.
“Get out of my OR!”
“No can do Sir. If I leave you will have another patient on your hands, either the person who tries to remove me or it will be me when Sergeant major gets here, I am here to be able to give him a first hand report and he is not the kind of man you disobey,” Chong answers in all seriousness. Then adds, “I am a trained combat medic. I have assisted in countless operations in Afghanistan and Iraq, as well as patched up Rangers under fire. I am sterile and qualified to be here.”
“Stay,” the Doctor decides, he really doesn’t have the time to argue, and what can it hurt.
Chong didn’t think he needed to add that the Glock in the small of his back is sterile too. Except for the gun oil you could eat off a Ranger’s handgun. He also didn’t want to say that he was ordered to not leave Brown’s side in case someone came for him. While medics aren’t combat troops, they are allowed under the Geneva conventions to protect a patient. He is not sure hwo the Geneva conventions cover this situation, but then again he is just following orders. Granted that didn’t work out too great for the Nazis, but one thing at a time.
The Commander offers them the lifeline. The collected officers have careers to protect so they aren’t forced to participate in this. He has assignments for those that choose to go, and the rest should just go home. The less they know, the better. Alpha Company’s Commander Captain Dunn offers to take pass out the assignments and makes it clear that he is staying. Delta’s commander Captain Robinson makes it clear that he is not. They are ordered to go home and get their gear, any officer who comes back is volunteering to participate. With that The Commander exits his office and drives his car outside the Battalion fence without looking back.
While the choppers fly over I-5 on their way north a young man sits slumped over in his chair. He doesn’t even bother to wite the blood from his face. His hands and feet tied to a wooden chair, he appears to be in a state between conscious and unconscious. His captors aren’t sure he is even aware of what is going on around him. They can’t quite make out what he is muttering, but it seems to be the same thing over and over again. They lean in to make out:
“Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession. I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor and high "esprit de corps" of the Rangers.”
