Battlefield Pacific

Deceiving Appearances

It had been nearly six weeks since Sergeant First Class Ian Slater and a small ragtag group of soldiers had successfully escaped capture from behind enemy lines. It had taken them another seventeen days to make it back to friendly forces. During that time, the small group of “freed soldiers” had done their best to stay hidden when they could and fight when no other choice presented itself. Slater didn’t really view himself as the leader of this motley crew, but they had latched onto him like a little brother does to his big brother on the first day of school.

During their seventeen-day ordeal, they had seen the Chinese soldiers getting pummeled from the air. The ROK and US forces were counterattacking hard. It was not unusual for them to run into a cluster of dead bodies as they traveled. Given their situation, they always searched the remains for any useful weapons or supplies that might not have been destroyed.

Then one day, a group of PLA soldiers got closer to Sergeant Slater’s motley crew. Searching for a place to hide, his men located a cluster of destroyed armored vehicles. They hid amongst the wreckage, forced to lie down near bodies until the enemy passed by. For twelve hours, they lay next to the fallen American, Korean, and Chinese soldiers, doing their best to hide in plain sight.

Finally, an American unit approached their hiding place, and they presented themselves to their fellow US comrades. Once their identities had been verified, they were brought behind the Allied lines, cleaned up, and sent back to Seoul to see what would become of them. Nearly all the prisoners had some minor injuries that needed treating. However, it was the injuries to their minds that would need more attention.

Slater, along with the other prisoners, was debriefed on what had happened at the Yalu line. Eventually, they had all been sent back to Japan, where they could have a more thorough medical and mental evaluation. Because they’d been prisoners, they weren’t going to be sent back to a line unit right away.

Two days after arriving in Japan, and only five days after they were repatriated, a colonel who was also a psychologist decided that Slater and his fellow prisoners hadn’t been deserters but rather were legitimate prisoners who had escaped capture, removing any doubt or suspicion. With this prognosis, their treatment changed for the better.

They were all assessed to determine their level of mental stability and to decide if they were fit to serve in a line unit at that time or if they would have to be cycled back to a support function for a time. Many of the prisoners were torn by these options. Some of them wanted to get payback for their comrades that had been killed, while others felt the need to serve in a support unit, or better yet, separate from the military entirely.

They went from having a cloud of suspicion over them to suddenly learning that they were being hailed as champions who had outsmarted the People’s Liberation Army. Slater overheard some of the other soldiers labeling his group the “Heroes of the Yalu Line.”

Everyone in that group of soldiers was eventually awarded the Prisoner of War medal, the Purple Heart, and a Bronze Star with Valor for overpowering and killing their captors and escaping back to the Allied lines. As a consolation prize, the Army determined that they should not have to return to combat but would all be assigned as drill instructors or other support jobs back in the States. They had done their part for their country, and now it was time for their country to take care of them.

A day after arriving in Tacoma, Washington, Sergeant Slater reported to the garrison commander’s office at Fort Lewis-McCord for his new assignment. He showed up at 0750 hours, just as he had been instructed. However, he was out of uniform. He showed up wearing a polo shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of Oakley sunglasses on the top of his closely cropped head, an ensemble he had purchased the night before at a Wal-Mart in Olympia.

When his plane arrived from Japan, the first thing he did was check himself into a Marriott in downtown Olympia. He bought some clothes, ate a steak dinner, then found a bar, where he proceeded to get as drunk as possible and try to pick up a local girl for the night. He had succeeded in nearly every goal except finding someone to spend the evening with. Frustrated, he went to the restroom, where he gave himself an honest look in the mirror.

“I’m a bit gaunt right now,” he realized. “I can’t blame a woman for running away from me — I’m all skin and bones.”

Since the start of the war, Slater had lost 32 pounds from stress, lack of food, and overactivity. Of course, dodging enemy soldiers behind the Allied lines for seventeen days hadn’t helped either. Besides that, the medication the doctors had prescribed to him to help control some of his PTSD-related anxiety had also killed his appetite. Defeated, he had left the bar to crash in his hotel room for the few hours that remained before he had to get up and report to duty.

The next morning hit him like a truck. He barely managed to pick himself up out of his bed. As he walked toward the headquarters building, the sun hurt his head, but at the same time, he wanted to soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays. He knew that sunny days were going to be a lot rarer here than in his home state of Florida.

Seeing the entrance to his new company coming up, he briskly walked along the outside of the headquarters buildings. He pulled the door open and walked in, and a young buck sergeant greeted him with a smile.

“Good Morning. How may I help you?” he asked, a bit too chipper for Slater’s liking.

“God, I have one gnarly hangover,” he thought. “I hope I don’t smell like alcohol…”

Slater pulled his personnel file out of a small daypack he had been carrying and gave the file to the young sergeant. “I’m Sergeant First Class Ian Slater. I was told to report for duty here this morning.”

The sergeant took the folder from him, opening it quickly to review the information. He asked for Slater’s ID card and verified the information with what had been written in the personnel file. “If you would please place your right index finger and right thumb on this scanner, I’ll make sure you are who you say you are,” he said with a smile. It seemed like he had done this a million times before.

“This is new. Never had to do this before,” Slater thought.

Looking at the sergeant’s uniform, he could see the man hadn’t deployed overseas. No combat action patch. Some very unflattering words came to mind as he thought about this green inexperienced soldier lording over him.

The soldier nodded when he received the confirmation that Slater’s identity had been verified. “Sorry for the delay, Sergeant. There have been a few sabotage incidents on base, so security has increased. You’re now registered as a member of the base and this command. If you take a seat over there, I’ll let Captain Wilkes know you’re here and he’ll let you know what your duties will be.”

A few minutes went by, and then a captain walked into the room and spoke briefly with the orderly, who pointed at Slater. The captain walked toward him. “Sergeant Slater, correct?” he asked, a bit of heat in his voice. As the captain looked him over, his lip snarled in disdain.

Standing as the captain approached, Ian replied, “Yes, Sir. I’m Sergeant Slater.”

Seeing the officer’s ribbon rack, Slater thought, “Great, another green newbie who’s never seen combat — this time an officer.” He hadn’t deployed overseas to Afghanistan, Europe or Asia, and here he was, already busting his chops.

“You’re out of uniform, Sergeant,” Captain Wilkes barked. “When you report to a unit, you do so in uniform. In this unit, everyone reports to duty in their service uniforms unless you’re assigned to be a drill sergeant. Is that understood?” He scowled.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll make sure I have the proper uniforms,” Slater said as he now stood properly at attention.

“Nothing in my orders said anything about being a drill sergeant — they’d better not make me a drill sergeant,” he thought in horror.

“Where did you transfer in from?” Wilkes asked in a more congenial manner as he continued to size him up.

“I just arrived yesterday from Japan,” Slater replied.

Captain Wilkes looked over the orders the orderly had just handed him. “Hmm… it says you were just promoted to E-7 four months ago, but you haven’t been to any of the Senior Leader Courses yet. It says I’m supposed to run you through several of the professional development courses before you’re given a more active assignment.” Pausing for a second, Wilkes seemed to change his demeanor a bit when he saw the list of decorations Slater had accumulated up to this point.

“Let’s see here… two Purple Hearts, two Bronze Stars with V device, one Silver Star with V device, and the Prisoner of War medal. OK, Sergeant, clearly you’ve been around the block and seen a lot of action, so I’ll cut the crap and just give you the skinny. Follow me back to my office, and we’ll talk,” he said, and he motioned for Slater to follow him.

As Sergeant Slater walked into Captain Wilkes’ office, he nearly chuckled at all of the motivational pictures and posters plastered on the man’s wall. On his desk, he saw a handful of challenge coins and other memorabilia. He also saw a picture of a woman and two little children in a frame, most likely his family.

Captain Wilkes sat down in his leather chair. “Look, we’re a basic combat training battalion for the 2nd ID,” he explained. “Our job is to churn out soldiers ready for combat. The 189th Infantry Brigade, which you now find yourself a part of, is a training brigade. Our battalion, the 2/357 infantry, is tasked with graduating 320 new soldiers a week. The other three battalions in the brigade are doing the same, which means we churn out a new battalion of soldiers every week for the war.”

Slater saw his moment to ask a question when Wilkes paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Have they doubled the size of the battalions? That’s a lot of new recruits to graduate each week.”

Wilkes smiled as he placed his coffee mug down. “Yes, they doubled the size of each of the new battalions. You’ve been at the front, you know better than I do. They’re short on officers and sergeants, so they’re doubling the strength of the units while they expand the officer and noncommissioned officer corps.”

Sensing that there was a question Wilkes hadn’t asked, Slater responded, “When the war started, I was an E-5 sergeant. Within ten days, half the officers and sergeants had been killed in combat. I was promoted directly to E-7 and given command of a platoon, until my unit was eventually wiped out at the Yalu line. I can attest to the casualties among the sergeants and officers. It’s as bad as you’ve heard, Sir.”

Wilkes looked almost appalled at what Ian had just said. Not a lot of combat soldiers had returned from Korea yet, so the opportunities to hear firsthand what was going on over there were very limited.

“All right,” Captain Wilkes said, “here’s what I’m going to do with you. I’m going to give you ten days permissive TDY to get yourself sorted, find an apartment, and get outfitted with new uniforms. For the time being, I’m going to have you work with the drill sergeants on identifying potential NCOs among the recruits. As you can imagine, in addition to graduating hundreds of recruits, we also have to identify eight soldiers from each company who have the leadership skills needed to be an effective sergeant. If we find a recruit who has more than two years of college, we’re supposed to assess them and determine if they could potentially be an officer or NCO and add them to the list as well. When these recruits graduate training, they’re going to be pulled aside and given three weeks of training as an NCO and then promoted to E-5. That is where you come into the picture.”

“Sir?” Slater asked.

“While you do not have a lot of time in grade and experience as a sergeant, you’ve been one for eight months, and more importantly, you’ve survived multiple battles. You’ll be tasked with helping the drill sergeants identify these individuals, and then you’ll work with two other senior NCOs to train and groom these recruits to become sergeants.”

Holding a hand up to object, Slater protested, “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not qualified to do this job. I barely even know how to be a sergeant, Sir. I’ve spent nearly all of my time as a sergeant in combat, not learning the ropes of what makes a good NCO.”

Wilkes nodded as he listened to Ian’s objections. “I understand, Slater, but here’s the deal. You’ve seen the elephant. You’ve been to battle and survived — shoot, you’ve got the medals to prove it. You don’t need to teach these guys the ins and outs of being an NCO. You need to teach these guys how to keep their soldiers alive — how to fight as a team and to listen to their officers and senior NCOs. For that, I think you’re eminently qualified.”

Wilkes sighed. “Look, I have a company to run. I need you to step up and lead. You aren’t being placed back into a line unit, so you need to impart your knowledge and experience to those who are going to the front. Understood?” It was more of a rhetorical question. Slater had been given his orders and, like them or hate them, he’d have to execute them.

“Yes, I understand, Sir,” Slater responded. “I’ll see you again in two weeks, this time in the proper uniform.”

“Now, to go find a bar and a girl who’s up for some fun. Then I’ll work on getting myself situated… priorities,” he thought as the meeting concluded.