Turn 2 - Coho Bound

The Camp was still cleaning up the mess the artillery rounds had left behind, as runners were sent to all of the Battalion commanders. They all received the same message, all CO's and 1SGT's from the Company level and up were to report to the Brigade mess tent for a meeting at 1400 hrs, to discuss the current situation. The fires had been put out, and the wounded were being treated at the Camp hospital. The survivors tried to keep themselves busy, anything to occupy their minds and forget what had happened just a few hours ago. Here and there, the smell of marijuana smoke could be detected. It was officially banned, but commanders usually turned a blind eye, especially after a day like today.

Risov and Hughes, along with dozens of other soldiers, had been assigned to cleanup detail. A crusty Sergeant-Major divided them into teams, in between spits of tobacco juice, and sent them to the areas they were needed most. One by one, the teams left to their various tasks, until the last team was left waiting for their orders. By luck of the draw, the 2 young SP4's were part of the last team, along with 10 others. The SGM looked at them. "You guys get the booby-prize. Report to Graves Registration for Burial Detail."

The young soldiers nervously looked at each other. The SGM spat out another wad of tobacco, and looked at the group. His voice softened, "Look, I know none of you want this assignment, but it has to be done. Those men are our brothers, and they deserve to be treated with respect. You'll all want the same thing, a proper send off, when your time comes. Now move out."

The group walked slowly to the cemetery on the edge of the Camp, none of them in a hurry to get to their destination. But sooner than any of them wanted, they arrived at the Registration point. An open field stretched in front of them, covered with hundreds of wooden crosses, with 30 or so body bags lying on the ground. A Lieutenant was holding a clipboard, as a Sgt read the names off of the dog tags. A Corporal pushing a wheelbarrow filled with shovels waved them over.

"It's about time you guys showed up," the corporal said, "everyone grab a shovel and follow me." The tools were passed out, as they made their way to the far end of the field. "All the graves have been marked," the Cpl said, pointing to several white rectangles spray-painted on the ground, "One man per grave, follow the outline and dig straight down, just like a foxhole. The grounds pretty soft, this used to be an alfalfa field, that's why they chose this spot. When you've finished one, I'll inspect it, and then it's on to the next one. Let's all try and get this done before the sun goes down." He turned, and headed back to the Registration Point.

The soldiers reluctantly looked at each other, then slowly began to dig. This was the easy part, they all had plenty of digging experience. They hard part would come later, burying the dead. The more observant of them looked around, and realized that there was plenty of room in the cemetery for more graves.

Risov looked around as the other members of the detail started digging. Graves Registration. Burial Detail. Cemeteries. People are just dyin' to get in here. Risov had the shits of this detail before it even began. The internal monologue of sarcasm could usually snap him out of whatever was bothering him, but not today. He hated this. He typically wasn't the self-important, swollen-ego type when it came to his place in life. He was a Spec-4, and there were a lot of other guys with more stripes running this show.. And the Army had a strange warp on just about everything. Maybe he knew some of the guys he was planting, maybe he didn't. What did it matter, anyway. They were dead. They had no feelings or thoughts. At least the waiting was over for these lucky bastards.

Maybe for some this was a patriotic, near-Holy thing to do, something a person would want done for them if fate frowned a different direction. Risov didn't care. It didn't matter - no sense in worrying about it now, and the same deal for later if it should come to it. The dead don't think, they don't talk, they don't get drunk or laid, and they don't feel. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, just cold, eternal darkness.

"Why couldn't some shitty-assed, green as grass PVT be doing this, and then I could be working on the tube, or getting the new guys squared away, the cycles, or the 1000 other things they'd need to know." This was utter bullshit. Risov eyed the "overseers" with a cold glare, but kept on working.

In truth, Risov couldn't go near a graveyard without.... Hell, he couldn't even think of anything remotely connected with them without thinking of his own father. A moderate stroke reduced the great man he idolized to someone who required substantial care. And when there was no return following the stroke, Risov's father ate a .357 Magnum. Sixteen year old Alexandre was the one who found him. If it weren't for the war, Alexandre, (or Jack as he preferred in the Army) would still be in therapy, although he claimed it was "worthless BS". Jack was still funny around pistols, and he hadn't touched one since the incident with his father. Good thing he was in the Artillery - he never directly saw the results of his work....

Jack snapped back into the here and now. His knuckles were white and aching with the grip he maintained on the shovel, yet his legs were rubbery. He collapsed into the grave he had been digging, and probably would've remained unnoticed if it weren't for two other soldiers nearly dumping the new occupant in on top of him. Risov wanted to beat feet out of there, but his legs were still like overcooked noodles, and he had to be physically lifted out, and the shovel pried from his hands. The initial embarrassment was replaced by a cold "don't mess with me look", and Risov stalked off in search of that guy in the Forward Support Battalion with the still.

As the other soldiers watched Risov storm out of the cemetery, Carter leaned on the earthen wall at the bottom of the newly dug grave, out of the watchful gaze of corporals and sergeants. He smoked on a cigarette, his reward for completing the job. He finished the smoke, and then reached up for one of the other soldiers to pull him up out of the grave. The ground was soft, so digging was relatively easy, but it also meant an increased risk of the grave collapsing. And Carter thought being buried in a collapsed grave while on Burial detail was not a fitting way to go. In fact, he couldn't think of many fitting ways to go, except maybe old age, of course.

Carter looked around they were halfway through the graves. He couldn't figure why they had chosen such a large cemetery though, sure was a lot of room. About thirty body bags were side by side. Carter didn't know any of them, he knew a few of the faces, and maybe could put a name to some of them, but he didn't actually know any of them. Poor bastards, though he had to admit guiltily to himself, better them than me.

He walked over to the next crudely marked lines on the ground. Follow the outline and dig straight down, not exactly brain surgery. As he loosened the earth with the shovel, he said "This sure would be easier with a trench digger." The remark drew murmurs of agreement from those around him. He continued to dig.

The Brigade mess tent was rapidly filling up, as the CO's and 1SGT's from the units of Camp Clark filtered in. Some of the men were sporting fresh bandages, and a few faces were glaringly absent. The mood was a somber one, the morning's attack had been the worst in months.

The Sergeant-Major entered, and in a commanding voice said, "Brigade, Atten-shun!" The men snapped to, as Col Meyers entered. "At ease, take your seats", the Colonel said as he made his way to the head table. He sat down, and started to read from a sheaf of papers. "The attack this morning was a bad one gentlemen. As of 1300 hours, we have 32 KIA, and 47 WIA. Most of the casualties occurred when the fuel dump went up. I've already put in a call to HQ, requesting replacements, but I've been informed that all the units are critically short of personnel at the moment. They promised to send us as many men as they could spare, as soon as they could, but quite frankly, I don't expect to see them any time soon."

Col Meyers rubbed his eyes for a moment, and continued on. "I know how much you and your men have suffered. But we are faced with a crisis, morale is at an all time low. The MP's have already caught 4 deserters since the attack. And who can blame them? All we can offer them is the possibility of getting killed, or maimed for life."

There were nods and sounds of agreement from around the room. The problem was not a new one. The Colonel continued, "But our job here is too damn important. If we fail, we leave the front door open to the Russians. And we all know what that means, we've all heard the reports from the people that have managed to escape the Soviet's, those that survived the attempt." He paused, letting that thought sink in. Corpses often washed up on shore, escapees that didn't survive the attempt. Their bodies were often riddled with bullet holes.

"We have to let the men blow off some steam. I'm therefore authorizing passes for any soldier that wants one for tonight off post. You are to encourage them to go and have a good time, to get their minds off of things for a few hours. And not just the men, I want everyone here to take advantage of this as well. Are there any questions?"

Bill's head snapped up with a puzzled look on his face. "Yes Sir, I have a question." Bill rose to his feet. "SSG Johnson, acting first with Bravo one-five. Does that mean no guards? I would expect every swinging John'll want to bolt for the ville. That means no base security." He sat back down, aware of the stares he was getting from the others.

Capt Ramsey stood up. "Sir, CPT Michael Ramsey, Charlie Company. I have to agree with SSG Johnson. I'm sure the troops will love this. But we will not be able to send everyone tonight. Can we do this over the next 10 days or so? Give the forward troops the next 3 days, and then start sending the rear troops?"

As CPT Ramsey sat back down, the sound of moving vehicles could be heard coming closer to Camp could be heard. COL Meyers turned to the sound, and then turned back, smiling, to the assembled troops. "I believe that is the answer to your questions, gentlemen. That is the 201st MI Battalion coming in you hear. They will be pulling security for us for the next 24 hours. Hopefully, that'll give everyone time to recover from their hangovers." There was laughter at that. "All personnel will be armed, but I want every man in this room to make sure that they don't start shooting up the town. If you hear the sirens go off, that's the recall signal. Every soldier will get back to Camp as fast as possible if that happens. That just about covers it. Enjoy your leave, you've all earned it. Dismissed."

The Sergeant-Major again shouted, "Brigade, Atten-SHUN!", as Colonel Meyers stood up and walked out the mess tent's door. The rest of officers and men slowly filed out. 1LT Courtney turned to his first sergeant and said, "You know Top, one of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. I know that you have the troop's best interest in heart, but damn it, when the Colonel says take the day off, you salute and say 'Yes Sir!'. At least that Captain agreed with you, but you had to know that the Colonel wouldn't leave the Camp unguarded. He didn't get where he is by being a fool, you know."

SSG Johnson headed back to the company area. His stomach was growling, reminding him he had not eaten today. He stopped by the battalion mess tent on the way to the company to mooch some food, and maybe some coffee. Hell, he hadn't even taken his wake up coffee yet, and it's after 1400, but what do you expect in the turmoil of what's happened today?

With a cuppa in his hand, he walked over to the company area to round up the platoon sergeants. He informed them of the evening passes. "Make sure everyone secures there gear. I'll have a chat with the SOG (Sergeant of the Guard) for the 201st before we leave. Formation at 1730."

He left the tent, and walked over to the where the 201st was unloading their deuce and a half's and forming up. He asked the nearest soldier where he could find the SOG, who pointed out a Master Sergeant wearing mirrored sunglasses and holding a clipboard. As he walked over, he could help but notice that the members of the 201st where wearing clean uniforms, and their weapons were of the best quality. They provided a sharp contrast to the dirty, grungy soldiers wandering around Camp Clark. He approached the SOG.

"Sergeant", he said, "I know your people are trustworthy, but if anything come up missing from my company, YOU are the man I'll come looking for. Don't misunderstand me, I don't think things will, but they sometimes do. This is our home, whether we like it or not, and what little comforts we have we intend to keep. Any questions? And thanks for covering our sector tonight, the boys really need a break. We've been on the line for far too long and...well thanks."

The MSG turned to him. "That's MASTER Sergeant to you, you smart-mouthed little bastard. We are the last people you want to cross. Now I suggest that you take a hike, before you get squashed, and let the real men take it from here. Dismissed."

Passing by the well maintained 201st, CPT Ramsey saw the SSG from Bravo. He was talking to the SOG of the 201st trying to let him know about the property at the camp. As he heard the SOG's response he turned, and his top sergeant stopped dead. He had heard the remark as well.

Ramsey walked up to the side of the SOG, he was furious, but didn't show it. He also didn't want to step on the Bravo's head soldier either. He stood smiling at the SOG, but the smile never came to his eyes. He waited for the man to salute. When he did, Ramsey's was returned with perfection. Then he said with a lilt of disdain to the SOG. "Sergeant, have you received deployment orders for your men? As we are all on the same side, I would love to help you with your orders. We all really appreciate you taking the time to come up here in the mud and blood." Ramsey looks the SOG up and down, and the man knows that it is the clean clothes and sharp contrast of a front line trooper looking at a REMF. Again, the smile that never comes to his eyes. Ramsey looks to the SSG and reads the name tag. "Staff Sergeant Johnson. Where would be the best place for the Sergeant to start sending his men."

He waved Johnson's reply off before more trouble could come of it. "That's OK, I'm sure the Sergeant can find the best trench for his men. Oh, and sergeant, we are on the same side but you should remember that you are not at your home and should watch your friendly replies. Take care of your troops. Dismissed. <pause> Coming, Johnson?"

With this, Ramsey steps back turns his back and walks back toward his First Sergeant. "Come on George, we need to let the men off. So we can get them back before the REMF's here lose our positions." He turns to Johnson and says, "Staff, you will want to get your people set to go to."

"Yes Sir. Aaah, and thanks Cap. That SOB is gonna be trouble, though. Those 'douche oh worst' pukes think they are too hot for their own good. Remind me of the SS in movies I use to watch on AMC or TCM. Nothing good coming from them. Oh well, thanks again sir." Bill gives the Captain a waving salute, never saluting an officer this close to the front.


	Twilight: 2000 - Under a Blood Red Sky \| Home History and Background \| Maps \| PC's and NPC's \| Turns \| Friendly Units \| Character Generation \| Equipment Turn 2 - Aftermath 17 April 2010 Camp Clark 1100 Hrs The Camp was still cleaning up the mess the artillery rounds had left behind, as runners were sent to all of the Battalion commanders. They all received the same message, all CO's and 1SGT's from the Company level and up were to report to the Brigade mess tent for a meeting at 1400 hrs, to discuss the current situation. The fires had been put out, and the wounded were being treated at the Camp hospital. The survivors tried to keep themselves busy, anything to occupy their minds and forget what had happened just a few hours ago. Here and there, the smell of marijuana smoke could be detected. It was officially banned, but commanders usually turned a blind eye, especially after a day like today. Risov and Hughes, along with dozens of other soldiers, had been assigned to cleanup detail. A crusty Sergeant-Major divided them into teams, in between spits of tobacco juice, and sent them to the areas they were needed most. One by one, the teams left to their various tasks, until the last team was left waiting for their orders. By luck of the draw, the 2 young SP4's were part of the last team, along with 10 others. The SGM looked at them. "You guys get the booby-prize. Report to Graves Registration for Burial Detail." The young soldiers nervously looked at each other. The SGM spat out another wad of tobacco, and looked at the group. His voice softened, "Look, I know none of you want this assignment, but it has to be done. Those men are our brothers, and they deserve to be treated with respect. You'll all want the same thing, a proper send off, when your time comes. Now move out." The group walked slowly to the cemetery on the edge of the Camp, none of them in a hurry to get to their destination. But sooner than any of them wanted, they arrived at the Registration point. An open field stretched in front of them, covered with hundreds of wooden crosses, with 30 or so body bags lying on the ground. A Lieutenant was holding a clipboard, as a Sgt read the names off of the dog tags. A Corporal pushing a wheelbarrow filled with shovels waved them over. "It's about time you guys showed up," the corporal said, "everyone grab a shovel and follow me." The tools were passed out, as they made their way to the far end of the field. "All the graves have been marked," the Cpl said, pointing to several white rectangles spray-painted on the ground, "One man per grave, follow the outline and dig straight down, just like a foxhole. The grounds pretty soft, this used to be an alfalfa field, that's why they chose this spot. When you've finished one, I'll inspect it, and then it's on to the next one. Let's all try and get this done before the sun goes down." He turned, and headed back to the Registration Point. The soldiers reluctantly looked at each other, then slowly began to dig. This was the easy part, they all had plenty of digging experience. They hard part would come later, burying the dead. The more observant of them looked around, and realized that there was plenty of room in the cemetery for more graves. Risov looked around as the other members of the detail started digging. Graves Registration. Burial Detail. Cemeteries. People are just dyin' to get in here. Risov had the shits of this detail before it even began. The internal monologue of sarcasm could usually snap him out of whatever was bothering him, but not today. He hated this. He typically wasn't the self-important, swollen-ego type when it came to his place in life. He was a Spec-4, and there were a lot of other guys with more stripes running this show.. And the Army had a strange warp on just about everything. Maybe he knew some of the guys he was planting, maybe he didn't. What did it matter, anyway. They were dead. They had no feelings or thoughts. At least the waiting was over for these lucky bastards. Maybe for some this was a patriotic, near-Holy thing to do, something a person would want done for them if fate frowned a different direction. Risov didn't care. It didn't matter - no sense in worrying about it now, and the same deal for later if it should come to it. The dead don't think, they don't talk, they don't get drunk or laid, and they don't feel. There is no light at the end of the tunnel, just cold, eternal darkness. "Why couldn't some shitty-assed, green as grass PVT be doing this, and then I could be working on the tube, or getting the new guys squared away, the cycles, or the 1000 other things they'd need to know." This was utter bullshit. Risov eyed the "overseers" with a cold glare, but kept on working. In truth, Risov couldn't go near a graveyard without.... Hell, he couldn't even think of anything remotely connected with them without thinking of his own father. A moderate stroke reduced the great man he idolized to someone who required substantial care. And when there was no return following the stroke, Risov's father ate a .357 Magnum. Sixteen year old Alexandre was the one who found him. If it weren't for the war, Alexandre, (or Jack as he preferred in the Army) would still be in therapy, although he claimed it was "worthless BS". Jack was still funny around pistols, and he hadn't touched one since the incident with his father. Good thing he was in the Artillery - he never directly saw the results of his work.... Jack snapped back into the here and now. His knuckles were white and aching with the grip he maintained on the shovel, yet his legs were rubbery. He collapsed into the grave he had been digging, and probably would've remained unnoticed if it weren't for two other soldiers nearly dumping the new occupant in on top of him. Risov wanted to beat feet out of there, but his legs were still like overcooked noodles, and he had to be physically lifted out, and the shovel pried from his hands. The initial embarrassment was replaced by a cold "don't mess with me look", and Risov stalked off in search of that guy in the Forward Support Battalion with the still. As the other soldiers watched Risov storm out of the cemetery, Carter leaned on the earthen wall at the bottom of the newly dug grave, out of the watchful gaze of corporals and sergeants. He smoked on a cigarette, his reward for completing the job. He finished the smoke, and then reached up for one of the other soldiers to pull him up out of the grave. The ground was soft, so digging was relatively easy, but it also meant an increased risk of the grave collapsing. And Carter thought being buried in a collapsed grave while on Burial detail was not a fitting way to go. In fact, he couldn't think of many fitting ways to go, except maybe old age, of course. Carter looked around they were halfway through the graves. He couldn't figure why they had chosen such a large cemetery though, sure was a lot of room. About thirty body bags were side by side. Carter didn't know any of them, he knew a few of the faces, and maybe could put a name to some of them, but he didn't actually know any of them. Poor bastards, though he had to admit guiltily to himself, better them than me. He walked over to the next crudely marked lines on the ground. Follow the outline and dig straight down, not exactly brain surgery. As he loosened the earth with the shovel, he said "This sure would be easier with a trench digger." The remark drew murmurs of agreement from those around him. He continued to dig. 17 April 2010 Camp Clark 1345 hrs The Brigade mess tent was rapidly filling up, as the CO's and 1SGT's from the units of Camp Clark filtered in. Some of the men were sporting fresh bandages, and a few faces were glaringly absent. The mood was a somber one, the morning's attack had been the worst in months. The Sergeant-Major entered, and in a commanding voice said, "Brigade, Atten-shun!" The men snapped to, as Col Meyers entered. "At ease, take your seats", the Colonel said as he made his way to the head table. He sat down, and started to read from a sheaf of papers. "The attack this morning was a bad one gentlemen. As of 1300 hours, we have 32 KIA, and 47 WIA. Most of the casualties occurred when the fuel dump went up. I've already put in a call to HQ, requesting replacements, but I've been informed that all the units are critically short of personnel at the moment. They promised to send us as many men as they could spare, as soon as they could, but quite frankly, I don't expect to see them any time soon." Col Meyers rubbed his eyes for a moment, and continued on. "I know how much you and your men have suffered. But we are faced with a crisis, morale is at an all time low. The MP's have already caught 4 deserters since the attack. And who can blame them? All we can offer them is the possibility of getting killed, or maimed for life." There were nods and sounds of agreement from around the room. The problem was not a new one. The Colonel continued, "But our job here is too damn important. If we fail, we leave the front door open to the Russians. And we all know what that means, we've all heard the reports from the people that have managed to escape the Soviet's, those that survived the attempt." He paused, letting that thought sink in. Corpses often washed up on shore, escapees that didn't survive the attempt. Their bodies were often riddled with bullet holes. "We have to let the men blow off some steam. I'm therefore authorizing passes for any soldier that wants one for tonight off post. You are to encourage them to go and have a good time, to get their minds off of things for a few hours. And not just the men, I want everyone here to take advantage of this as well. Are there any questions?" Bill's head snapped up with a puzzled look on his face. "Yes Sir, I have a question." Bill rose to his feet. "SSG Johnson, acting first with Bravo one-five. Does that mean no guards? I would expect every swinging John'll want to bolt for the ville. That means no base security." He sat back down, aware of the stares he was getting from the others. Capt Ramsey stood up. "Sir, CPT Michael Ramsey, Charlie Company. I have to agree with SSG Johnson. I'm sure the troops will love this. But we will not be able to send everyone tonight. Can we do this over the next 10 days or so? Give the forward troops the next 3 days, and then start sending the rear troops?" As CPT Ramsey sat back down, the sound of moving vehicles could be heard coming closer to Camp could be heard. COL Meyers turned to the sound, and then turned back, smiling, to the assembled troops. "I believe that is the answer to your questions, gentlemen. That is the 201st MI Battalion coming in you hear. They will be pulling security for us for the next 24 hours. Hopefully, that'll give everyone time to recover from their hangovers." There was laughter at that. "All personnel will be armed, but I want every man in this room to make sure that they don't start shooting up the town. If you hear the sirens go off, that's the recall signal. Every soldier will get back to Camp as fast as possible if that happens. That just about covers it. Enjoy your leave, you've all earned it. Dismissed." The Sergeant-Major again shouted, "Brigade, Atten-SHUN!", as Colonel Meyers stood up and walked out the mess tent's door. The rest of officers and men slowly filed out. 1LT Courtney turned to his first sergeant and said, "You know Top, one of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble. I know that you have the troop's best interest in heart, but damn it, when the Colonel says take the day off, you salute and say 'Yes Sir!'. At least that Captain agreed with you, but you had to know that the Colonel wouldn't leave the Camp unguarded. He didn't get where he is by being a fool, you know." SSG Johnson turned to the LT, and with a smirk on his face, saluted. "Yes Sir! You mean like that?" LT Courtney shook his head. "I give up. Handle the details with troops for tonight. I'm going to get a drink." He slung his AK-47 over his shoulder and wandered off. SSG Johnson headed back to the company area. His stomach was growling, reminding him he had not eaten today. He stopped by the battalion mess tent on the way to the company to mooch some food, and maybe some coffee. Hell, he hadn't even taken his wake up coffee yet, and it's after 1400, but what do you expect in the turmoil of what's happened today? With a cuppa in his hand, he walked over to the company area to round up the platoon sergeants. He informed them of the evening passes. "Make sure everyone secures there gear. I'll have a chat with the SOG (Sergeant of the Guard) for the 201st before we leave. Formation at 1730." He left the tent, and walked over to the where the 201st was unloading their deuce and a half's and forming up. He asked the nearest soldier where he could find the SOG, who pointed out a Master Sergeant wearing mirrored sunglasses and holding a clipboard. As he walked over, he could help but notice that the members of the 201st where wearing clean uniforms, and their weapons were of the best quality. They provided a sharp contrast to the dirty, grungy soldiers wandering around Camp Clark. He approached the SOG. "Sergeant", he said, "I know your people are trustworthy, but if anything come up missing from my company, YOU are the man I'll come looking for. Don't misunderstand me, I don't think things will, but they sometimes do. This is our home, whether we like it or not, and what little comforts we have we intend to keep. Any questions? And thanks for covering our sector tonight, the boys really need a break. We've been on the line for far too long and...well thanks." The MSG turned to him. "That's MASTER Sergeant to you, you smart-mouthed little bastard. We are the last people you want to cross. Now I suggest that you take a hike, before you get squashed, and let the real men take it from here. Dismissed." Passing by the well maintained 201st, CPT Ramsey saw the SSG from Bravo. He was talking to the SOG of the 201st trying to let him know about the property at the camp. As he heard the SOG's response he turned, and his top sergeant stopped dead. He had heard the remark as well. Ramsey walked up to the side of the SOG, he was furious, but didn't show it. He also didn't want to step on the Bravo's head soldier either. He stood smiling at the SOG, but the smile never came to his eyes. He waited for the man to salute. When he did, Ramsey's was returned with perfection. Then he said with a lilt of disdain to the SOG. "Sergeant, have you received deployment orders for your men? As we are all on the same side, I would love to help you with your orders. We all really appreciate you taking the time to come up here in the mud and blood." Ramsey looks the SOG up and down, and the man knows that it is the clean clothes and sharp contrast of a front line trooper looking at a REMF. Again, the smile that never comes to his eyes. Ramsey looks to the SSG and reads the name tag. "Staff Sergeant Johnson. Where would be the best place for the Sergeant to start sending his men." "Well sir, I..." Bill starts to respond to the Captain. He waved Johnson's reply off before more trouble could come of it. "That's OK, I'm sure the Sergeant can find the best trench for his men. Oh, and sergeant, we are on the same side but you should remember that you are not at your home and should watch your friendly replies. Take care of your troops. Dismissed. <pause> Coming, Johnson?" Bill stands there a moment, almost dumb struck.. "Ah, yes sir, I have troops to look after." He shoots the master sergeant a 'fku' look as he turns to leave. With this, Ramsey steps back turns his back and walks back toward his First Sergeant. "Come on George, we need to let the men off. So we can get them back before the REMF's here lose our positions." He turns to Johnson and says, "Staff, you will want to get your people set to go to." "Yes Sir. Aaah, and thanks Cap. That SOB is gonna be trouble, though. Those 'douche oh worst' pukes think they are too hot for their own good. Remind me of the SS in movies I use to watch on AMC or TCM. Nothing good coming from them. Oh well, thanks again sir." Bill gives the Captain a waving salute, never saluting an officer this close to the front.