299 Days VIII: The War (14 page)

Let the arrogant hipsters in Seattle rot, Grant thought. Seattle probably wouldn’t
make it through the winter anyway. “You can’t eat snarkiness,” Grant thought to himself.
In the spring, the hungry and gang-terrorized inhabitants would be begging the Patriots
to take them back. Good. This would be when the sorting between guilty Limas and innocent
go-along-to-get-along civilians would begin.

“I’m not a quitter, but I need to ask something that others are thinking,” one of
the squad leaders said. “How long will this take and will it be done when our year
is up?” As members of the Washington State Guard, the troops in the 17th had one-year
enlistments.

“A fair question,” Grant said, butting in on Ted. He did so because this was a political
issue, not an operational detail. Grant recalled how critical the expiring one-year
enlistments were to George Washington; it was a critical topic that needed to be handled
at the commanding officer level.

“The answer is that we anticipate this taking a few weeks,” Grant said. What he didn’t
say was that the Patriot units in Olympia would only have enough supplies for about
two weeks of fighting unless Loyalist units defected and brought their supplies. If
they couldn’t take Olympia in about one week, the 17th would retreat back to Pierce
Point or some defensible area on the way back. This wasn’t like the old days when
massive armies faced off with great supplies. The battle for Olympia would be fought
by some regular units and lots of irregular units getting together and hitting a hollowed
out den of thieves. It was closer to gang warfare than the grand campaigns of World
War II.

“We anticipate that we will need to occupy Olympia for a few months to get it up and
running again,” Grant said. He didn’t want to use the term “civil affairs” because
they’d all think they were in a weenie unit of paper pushers; however, he wanted the
unit to have a rough idea of what they’d be doing and for how long. They were entitled
to know that. Besides, it was better to set expectations now than to overpromise and
suffer the resentment later. So Grant took this opportunity to get expectations where
they needed to be.

“To be honest,” Grant said, which had everyone’s attention since the topic was so
important, “I think you guys will be bored after Olympia falls. You’ll be guarding
facilities. You’ll be processing prisoners and handing out supplies. You’ll be well-armed
in case any dumbass is thinking about stealing from us. That kind of thing.” The 11B
squad and others who had been in combat were nodding. The experienced soldiers knew
that, for every second of glory, there would be a week of boredom. The less glory
the better, Grant thought; glory got people killed, maimed, and mentally scarred for
life. Boredom was just … boring. It was safe.

“In fact,” Grant said with a smile, “It’s my goal that you are bitching to me about
being bored. I would consider that a victory, because it means my people are safe.”
That got a lot of smiles.

“Will we be together as a unit all the time or will we be split up once we get there?”
Ryan asked.

“Dunno,” Grant said. “It depends on the ground conditions in Olympia, and the orders
I get from HQ I would want to keep us together since we work so well together, but
you never know what the mission requires.”

The next question came from one of the infantrymen in the 11B squad.

“What are the rules of engagement?” he asked. He had detailed rules of engagement
when he was in Afghanistan that prevented them from shooting back most of the time.
They were idiotic and demoralizing, and they got guys killed. The infantryman was
down with this whole Patriot thing, but he didn’t want to go through the pansy-ass
rules of engagement from Afghanistan again.

Grant and Ted had anticipated this question. Several squad leaders had told them earlier
that the 11B squad was complaining about the possibility of stupid rules of engagement.

Ted looked at Grant and Grant nodded to signify that he would take this question.
It was a quasi-legal question and Grant was the lawyer.

“Rules of engagement are very simple,” Grant said. “Defend yourself. Use your judgment.
Better safe than sorry.” That got some smiles.

“Hey, this isn’t some politically correct war being shown on CNN or Al-Jazeera,” Grant
said. “We’re not in some host country that hates us—we’re in America.” That got some
applause.

“All the detailed rules of the Geneva Convention don’t apply, but decency does,” Grant
said. Well, technically, the Geneva Convention probably did apply, but Grant wasn’t
about to learn all the details and insist that his troops do the same. Something like
“decency” was easier for these irregular troops to remember.

“Decency is your rule of engagement,” Grant said, letting that sink in for a few moments.

“Remember,” he continued, “you have to account for your life when you die, in my opinion.
I’m not trying to get religious on you, but I’m telling you what I firmly believe.
Do you want to try to explain to God why you intentionally killed an innocent person?
I don’t. I won’t have to because I won’t ever intentionally kill an innocent.” He
let that sink in, too.

“Who are innocent people?” Grant asked. “Unarmed people, kids, old people, most women.
This isn’t the movies where there are lots of booby-trapped civilians trying to blow
you up. That makes for a great film, but it’s not realistic here. Remember: the civilians
in Olympia are hungry, most of them, and they want the gang and government terror
to end. They won’t be running up to you with grenades. They don’t have grenades and
they want you to feed them more than they want to kill you.”

Grant paused and repeated, “The civilians want you to feed them more than they want
to kill you.”

Ted was getting a little uncomfortable. The troops shouldn’t be lulled into thinking
all the civilians were nice. Grant could tell he overstated the lack of civilian threats.

“This doesn’t mean you should expect hugs and kisses from civilians,” Grant said.
“Some percentage of them will be trying to kill you. Also, beware of Lima military
or police in civilian clothes. So be careful, but don’t think of all civilians as
suicide bombers. They aren’t. Most aren’t.”

This got Ted nodding, which was a sign Grant was looking for. He was making this stuff
up so he was starving for guidance from experienced professionals.

“If you see a civilian with a weapon, get ready to shoot,” Grant said. “If you see
a weapon pointed at you, definitely shoot. If they are stupid enough to point a weapon
at you, they deserve to die. It’s not your fault that some dumbass civilian decided
to be John Wayne. Not your problem. You’re just there doing a job, okay?” Grant was
trying to prevent some of the guilt that often haunted those who shot civilians. He
couldn’t eliminate it, but he could set the tone for things now.

“Limas in uniform—military or law enforcement—are a different story,” Grant said.
“They are not poor civilians trapped in a government town. If they have a uniform,
they’re trying to kill you. Kill them first. Period. We’re going to all the trouble
of training and deploying in an effort to kill the bad guys. If they have a uniform,
they’re a bad guy. Period. Kill them. And that applies to those stupid Freedom Corps
assholes in their stupid hard hats.” That got a couple of cheers. Some in the unit
had very bad experiences with the FCorps before coming to the unit.

“But, that being said,” Grant said, “if someone in uniform is trying to surrender,
then don’t shoot them. Unless it’s a ruse, and it might be.” Grant thought about the
inconsistency of what he’d just said. “I guess what I’m saying is don’t automatically
shoot someone who is trying to surrender. Give them a chance to surrender if that’s
safe to do.”

“Don’t try this alone,” Ted interjected. “Have a second guy cover them. That way one
of you is concentrating on the surrender part and another is concentrating on the
killing them part if it’s a ruse.”

“The Limas will just shoot us without thinking, so why don’t we do the same?” Corporal
Sherryton asked. She was the one whose family was butchered by the gangs in Chicago.

“We’re not animals,” Grant quickly answered. “We’re better than the Limas.” Grant
looked right at Sherryton and said, “I mean, Corporal, that’s why you’re here, right?
Because we’re better and we want to stop the things they do. You’re here because you’re
better than they are. We have to be better.” Grant let that sink in. “We treat people
better,” he continued. “We set the example for the civilian population. We want them
to come over to our side. That’s winning: the population wanting to come over to our
side. Winning isn’t piling up Lima bodies.”

Grant didn’t want to overemphasize restraint at the expense of fighting.

“That doesn’t mean we do stupid shit just to make the Limas happy,” Grant said. “We
kill the enemy. We’re soldiers and killing the enemy is our job. We protect ourselves
and others. We do that with lethal force. If you have to choose between doing what
you think you need to do and worrying about the law, pull the trigger first and we’ll
figure it out later. You won’t be in trouble with Patriot forces unless you do something
that everyone would recognize as a crime.”

“Killing innocents for no reason,” Grant said. “That will get you in trouble. I am
ordering you not to do that. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, sir!” everyone said, nearly in unison.

“Rape,” Grant said, “will not—I repeat, not—get you in legal trouble.” The crowd was
stunned.

“It will get you shot,” he said, drawing his pistol. “By me.”

Silence.

“Everyone understand?” Grant asked.

“Yes, sir!” was the response.

“So, to review, what happens to rapists in this unit?” Grant asked.

“Boom!” someone yelled.

“Exactly,” Grant said. “See, these rules of engagement aren’t complicated.” That got
some laughs.

There were no more questions. Then Grant did something that he made up on the spot.
“It’s dark by now and, for once, it’s not raining,” Grant said. “Let’s have a fire
out there in the fire pit and just talk informally about things. No rank, everything
off the record. Just hanging out before we ship out.” That got some nods.

“Okay, you’re dismissed,” Grant said.

Someone started clapping. Then everyone stood up and cheered. Next, everyone was whooping
and hollering. No one knew what, exactly, they were cheering for. They were just cheering.
They were a family. And they were about to do something big.

(December 26)

Grant, Ted, and Sap were some of the first out at the fire pit. They got a fire going
rather quickly. The pit, which saw quite a bit of use in the summer when it was nice
out, hadn’t been used in a few months. It had some crude benches around it. There
were two picnic tables, too. They dried them off. Pretty soon, soldiers were showing
up with lawn chairs. Some sat on the ground.

For the first few hours, they talked about everything and nothing. Hometowns, sports
(well, former sports teams since there were no more games), food, and funny stories.
There were many funny stories, many laughs.

Pastor Pete arrived and pulled up a lawn chair. He had been struggling with the issue
of whether he would deploy to Olympia with the unit as its chaplain. He knew they
would need the comfort he brought when they were out on the battlefield. They would
see the absolute worst of humanity out there; they would need some answers about why
all of this was happening. But the civilians at Pierce Point needed him, too. They
had plenty of their own troubles.

Pastor Pete had finally decided to tell Grant that he would be deploying. He knew
that the troops would be in even more danger and horrible conditions than the civilians
in Pierce Point, so he would go where the need was the greatest, even if that meant
people would be shooting at him. He was terrified of dying. Not about death—he actually
welcomed that because he knew he was going to a better place—but about letting the
men down by doing something stupid and getting killed, and then not being able to
help them with the terrible things they would face.

“Hey, Padre Pete,” one of the troops said. That was a nickname given to him by the
Hispanic soldiers who appreciated that he had gone to such lengths to give them something
like a traditional Catholic Christmas Mass in Spanish.

It was inevitable. Whenever Pastor Pete showed up, people quit swearing and were on
their best behavior. The previous storytelling—some of which had involved women and
liquor, and all of which involved swearing—stopped.

Things got serious. Finally, one of the soldiers asked Pastor Pete, “What about the
innocent civilians in Olympia and Seattle? What did they do to deserve what we’re
about to do there?” Several guys nodded. They had been wondering this, too.

“They made a bunch of choices,” Pastor Pete said. “They chose slavery. Yeah, that’s
a word we don’t use much anymore. But ‘slavery’ isn’t just people on plantations in
the 1800s. It’s having other people in control of your life. It’s being totally dependent
on others. It’s trading your liberty for ‘being taken care of.’ It’s selling yourself.”
People were silent.