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“Shots fired!” came the distress call over the handheld radio. Major Samuelsson and Colonel Harris, who were going over some maps of Warren, stared at the radio on the table in helpless silence. There was a pause—they had been forced to use relays because the survivalist’s camp was over five miles out of town. Having just arrived at the High School, there hadn’t been time to set up the “COW” truck with the Tower-Integrated Mobile Command and Communication Center which would have allowed them to speak directly with Lieutenant Jenkins. Only thirty minutes before they had received a transmission stating that the preppers’ camp had been found and Lieutenant Jenkins was preparing a team to go talk to the men. “We are returning fire and pulling back. No casualties reported as of yet.”
Bruce grabbed the radio off the table. “This is Whiplash! Instruct Lieutenant Jenkins to disengage, pull back, set up a perimeter and stand fast! I want him to report ASAP!” Bruce slammed the radio down on the table. “I should have never let that idiot have a platoon! Sammy, grab the active QRF (Quick Response Force) and have them mount up ASAP. Also, have the rest of Charlie Company gear up and stand by until they receive further orders.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Sammy said, already hustling from the room. Colonel Harris grabbed his plate carrier from the corner and threw it over his head while dismissing the other officers in the tent. He grabbed his M4 and bolted out the tent flap and into the school’s parking lot where most of the vehicles were parked. Only a minute later, Major Samuelsson came jogging from around the gymnasium, followed by two dozen men. Sammy pointed at three of the MRAPs off to his left that were parked alongside the curb instead of in the large parking lot. Two of the MRAPs had a fifty caliber machine gun mounted on top. After everyone was loaded up, an exasperated Bruce turned back towards Sammy with a questioning look towards the empty driver’s seat.
“They’re comin’,” Sammy said reassuringly. Sure enough, a few seconds later two more men came sprinting around the outside corner of the gymnasium where a good portion of the Regiment would be spending the night. One of the men was still buttoning the blouse of his uniform. Pointing at the radio in Bruce’s hand, Sammy asked, “Any word yet?”
“Nothin’,” Bruce said irritably. The driver jumped in and started to apologize profusely but Colonel Harris cut him off. “Relax, son. Just get this tin can rolling.”
“Yes, Sir!” the corporal replied with visible relief as he cranked up the large diesel engine.
A few minutes later they passed the first Humvee acting as radio relay on the south side of town and turned down Brown’s Run Road—the platoon’s last known position. After another mile, they came across two Humvees parked in the middle of the road. One of the soldiers standing out front waved them down. Before the MRAP’s wheels had even come to a halt, Colonel Harris had his door open and jumped out of the vehicle.
“Where is Lieutenant Jenkins?” he demanded of the middle-aged sergeant who snapped to attention and saluted.
“I...I'm not sure, sir. We haven’t heard anything from him since his first transmission after the shooting began.”
“Did you relay my message to pull back and stand down?” Colonel Harris asked him.
“Yessir, we did... But we haven’t had any response since then. We've been hearing shots up ‘til about three minutes ago.” The sergeant could see the anger intensifying on Colonel Harris’s face and felt uncomfortable giving him the news.
Bruce held out his hand, demanding the sergeant’s radio. “Lieutenant Jenkins, this is Whiplash, come back.” After a few seconds, Bruce tried again with no response. “Anyone in 3rd Platoon, please respond,” he radioed, forcing the effort to keep his voice calm.
“This is Sgt. Henry Wilkens. Go ‘head, Whiplash,” came the reply.
“What the hell is going on down there? Where is Lieutenant Jenkins?” Colonel Harris barked.
“Sir, the LT doubled back with two squads. The negotiations didn’t go very smoothly and someone took a shot at the LT. Things went south from there. We’ve moved back down the road and set up a perimeter like you requested, Sir. We have one wounded, but he is in stable condition and one of the Humvees should be along shortly to transport him back to base camp.”
“Why did the LT double back? I gave specific orders to stand down!” Bruce almost shouted.
“I couldn’t answer that for you Colonel,” the sergeant answered him, obviously uncomfortable.
“What about civilian casualties? Were any of the civilians killed?”
“Yes, Sir, quite a few....”
“What do you mean, ‘quite a few’? How many people did you kill?” Bruce could feel the panic rising in his throat by the rising pitch of his voice.
“I’m not sure, Sir. Like I said, we pulled back and set up a perimeter, like you requested. I’m not sure where the LT went, but we’ve heard shooting up ‘til recently. Sir, please hold one....” The other side of the radio went silent for a few seconds before Sergeant Wilkens continued. “Sir, I can see the LT and both squads walking up the drive now. Do you want me to put him on?”
“No, just make sure he doesn’t leave your sight. I’m coming to you.” Colonel Harris took down directions from the sergeant providing the road block and a few minutes later they were pulling up to the gravel entrance of the property which was clogged with Humvees and MRAPs. The first thing Bruce saw was the LT leaning against the back of a Humvee, inspecting his plate carrier with another soldier.
Bruce exited the MRAP and waited for Sammy to join him before approaching. “What the hell happened?” he growled to the LT who was acting way too casual after being in a gunfight.
“One of those sons of bitches tried to kill me—look!” He tried to hand the ceramic plate from his plate carrier to Bruce who just knocked it out of his hands onto the ground angrily. A couple of the other soldiers who had been standing around talking with the LT suddenly felt the need to be elsewhere and abandoned the lieutenant to the colonel’s wrath. Lieutenant Jenkins didn’t seem to notice or care.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. You were sent here to negotiate with them and persuade them to leave—not to start a war!”
“I didn’t start the war, Colonel. I just ended it. They made it known that they would not relocate under any circumstances. I told them that wasn’t an option and they would be relocated by force if necessary. That’s when one of those rednecks took a shot at me. Luckily, it hit me square in the plate. At that point, it was out of my hands and all hell broke loose.”
“I sent orders that you were to pull back and set up a perimeter and wait for further instructions. Why did you return against my orders?” Colonel Harris was visibly angry about being disobeyed and spoke in his most commanding voice, yet it didn’t seem to ruffle the young LT in the least. The LT’s body language reminded Bruce of a petulant teenager who was being defiant while getting a lecture.
“I did follow your directive, Colonel,” the LT responded calmly, bordering on patronizing. “However, our perimeter was a mile wide and an inch thin. The survivors of the original gunfight would obviously be upset about us killing some of their members and would most likely want retribution. If we were to let them sneak through our lines, then we’d be facing a potential guerilla force that could attack us at will all summer. There was no time to wait for the radio relay so I made an executive decision. I took two squads with me and, sure enough, we found them trying to sneak through our line to the South. I gave them the opportunity to surrender and they didn’t take it, so...”
“So you killed them.” Bruce finished the LT’s sentence.
“We completed the objective, which was to get rid of a bunch of crazies that would be living on our doorstep. When they fired the first round, they made the decision in regards to their future.” Lieutenant Jenkins casually reached down and grabbed a stainless water bottle off the ground and took a long drink before pouring the remaining contents over his head to cool himself off. When he finished, he just stood there casually, not seeming to have a care in the world. Bruce was speechless and wasn’t sure what to say next. The LT was obviously not disturbed by Colonel Harris’s anger over the situation.
“I’ll be sending a report to General Oates about what happened here today,” Bruce threatened the cocky LT.
“Okay, Colonel.” Lieutenant Jenkins shrugged his shoulders at Bruce’s threat. “Let me know when you do; I also need to send him a report on everything that’s happened to date.” He met Bruce’s gaze squarely, not quite defiantly, but definitely unmoved by Bruce’s threat.
Colonel Harris turned away from Lieutenant Jenkins as his blood boiled. He couldn’t stand the arrogant LT and wondered what kind of mess he had gotten himself into. The man acted like he was untouchable. “Major Samuelsson, please assemble two squads and have them go clear the buildings down there. I’d like to take a look at the carnage the LT left behind for my report.”
Even though Bruce had his back to the LT, excluding him from the conversation, Lieutenant Jenkins cut in. “Just so you know, Colonel, we already cleared the house and every outbuilding. You should be good to go. Do you want me to come along and walk you through everything for your report?” He finished the question with an extra touch of attitude.
“No, I don’t!” Bruce huffed without turning around to acknowledge the LT. “You’ve produced enough excitement for today. Head back to camp and get started on your report before we lose the light.” The LT shrugged once more and started to gather up his things. “Captain Samuelsson, please assemble the QRF to accompany us down to the house. Also, I want this platoon commander, and both of the squad leaders that accompanied Lieutenant Jenkins on his foray...and Sergeant Wilkens to accompany us.” Colonel Harris hoped they might be able to shed some light on the events and help him find some holes in the LT’s story that he could report. He spoke with the men on their way down to the house and, unfortunately, everything the LT said checked out. He did discover that the LT was very heavy handed from the start with the group of preppers and didn’t try very hard to persuade them. He basically tried to order them out. Only an idiot would have tried to bully a bunch of survivalists. Bruce guessed that the outcome was what the LT had actually wanted, but at the same time, Bruce didn’t have any proof of that.
As they approached the house, Bruce saw a handful of bodies strewn throughout the yard. The house had been riddled with bullets, most of them fifty caliber from one of the MRAPs. Bruce’s heart broke the minute he stepped inside the house. Just inside the wooden front door was a young pregnant woman, probably in her early thirties, wearing a summer dress. She was lying in a large pool of blood with a double-barrel shotgun still clenched in her hands. Lying on top of her was a young boy, no older than ten, who had wielded a deer rifle through the front door to protect his mother’s body. They hadn’t stood a chance against the firepower they were up against. The horrible image seared itself into Bruce’s retinas. He stood, staring at the bodies which had been torn apart by a fifty caliber machine gun, yet he couldn’t turn his eyes away from the carnage. Colonel Harris had seen his fair share of dead and bloated bodies during his two tours in the sand box, yet this was different. These were Americans: a young lady and a small boy that had been torn apart because they didn’t want to leave their homes.
“What the hell are we doing here, Sammy?” Bruce turned towards his XO with tears brimming in his eyes. “What’s the point of all of this? Are we even the good guys anymore?” Sammy just shook his head while the back of his gloved hand covered his mouth. He was just as revolted as Bruce at the sight and found himself speechless. Bruce would later remember that moment as a turning point in his life. He was done just blindly following orders. He would continue with his mission, but on his own terms...his career and the consequences be damned.