WHERE THE HELL'S THE ENEMY?

by: BILL MACWITHEY

Where The Hell’s The Enemy? is the story of a gang of misfits, part of an army reserve unit strictly for the few bucks a month they receive for weekend meetings. But, when they are activated and sent to the Persian Gulf, it becomes a comedy of errors that leads to their becoming unwitting heroes.

Where The Hell’s The Enemy is the story of a small army reserve transportation unit. For those unfamiliar with transportation unit, that means, “truck drivers.” Now, there are far more glamorous jobs in the army, but the guys hauling supplies, ammo and troops around are about as important as any. Without the proper transportation, an army would quickly find itself mired down, unable to advance on the enemy.

At least, that’s how the folks assigned to this particular unit thought of themselves, even though they seldom did anything on training weekends, except read girly magazines. A number of the men are without jobs and live at a Salvation Army Center for homeless men.

When Gerry Thompson retires from the regular army and joins the reserve unit, he quickly realizes their commander, First Lieutenant Larry Noble, knows as much about being a soldier as he, himself knew about being a rock singer. Which was nothing! Thompson suspected they might be deployed to the Persian Gulf, so decided he had better try to make soldiers out of the bunch of pot smoking “ne’er do wells.”

A few months after joining the unit, they were deployed to California for their summer encampment so they might learn to drive the Bradley Fighting Machine. Lieutenant Noble lays out a route which will take them hundreds of miles out of the way, so they can stay a couple of days in Las Vegas. When Noble loses all his money, he sells one of their deuce and a half trucks to a rancher that he might continue to gamble.

After Thompson recovers the truck and takes over command from the hapless lieutenant, they continue to summer encampment. Thompson has been extremely hard on the men to try to make soldiers of them, but they do well at Fort Ord and stay out of trouble. Thompson relents and allows a stop at Disneyland on the way back to San Antonio. He cannot help but laugh at the men, including Lieutenant Noble, because they are like a bunch of little kids at Disneyland.

Then, the call comes that they have been activated for duty in the Gulf. Now, Thompson is worried! He has to get this bunch of misfits shaped up. Hell, half of them don’t even have uniforms.

When they arrive is Saudi Arabia, Thompson is nervous as hell they’ll get into trouble after they learn there is absolutely no fraternizing with the local women and absolutely no booze of any kind allowed. But, he is pleasantly surprised, when even Anderson, the worst of the lot seems to take their job seriously, as they ferry munitions and vehicles to the border with Iraq.

The ground war begins, as they are delivering Bradley fighting vehicles to the Second Armored Division. The division pulls out before they arrive and Thompson makes the decision that they should try to catch up with the 2nd to deliver the Bradleys. Of course, they become lost in the desert and wind up farther north than any allied troops were supposed to go. They are in dire need of fuel, and learn there is fuel at a scud missile site close-by. Against all odds, and against Thompson’s better judgment, they do manage to take out the missile crews and fire the missiles off at an Iraqi oil refinery.

Now, they all think they are heroes of the first order, but find themselves being chased across the desert by an Iraqi armored force. But, it turns out the Iraqis want to surrender rather than fight. They accidentally come across an underground bunker and destroy it by dropping a missile from the Bradley down a vent pipe. Thompson and Anderson damned near kill themselves in the effort.

After an American aircraft spots them so far north in Iraq and reports it to the commanding general, Thompson’s gang of misfits are ordered to the rescue of a group of army rangers trapped in a small town and surrounded by enemy armor. They enlist the aid of the surrendered Iraqis to free the rangers, not realizing they are being touted as real heroes back at headquarters, even though headquarters has no idea in hell who they are.

The rescue is successful, but they are once more pursued by an enemy force, this one, not ready to surrender! They set a trap and destroy the enemy force, but not without their own losses. Thompson is stunned, when several of his people, whom he has finally come to respect as soldiers, are killed. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that such a thing might happen. Hell, they were truck drivers, not combat soldiers!

Anderson, who has pretty much stuck close to Thompson, spots a bunch of pipes sticking out of the ground, and a captured Iraqi tells them the location of several more underground bunkers. All the while, Lieutenant Noble has reluctantly gone along for the ride, allowing Thompson to make all the decisions, but now, he decides to take part in destroying the bunkers. He is taken prisoner by Iraqi soldiers.

Quite accidentally, their Iraqi comrade-in-arms hears a conversation on the radio that reveals where the American prisoners are being held and aids Thompson and the rangers in their rescue. Then, they finish destroying the bunkers and marking the location of enemy tank emplacements so our air force can destroy them.

A cease-fire is called, and as they travel back toward Kuwait, they are pressed into road guard service at the Kuwaiti border. They stop and search vehicles heading out of Kuwait into Iraq for weapons and contraband stolen from the Kuwaitis.

Anderson stops an Iraqi in a Mercedes and finds not only a young Kuwaiti girl locked in the trunk, but box after boxful of money. He kills the Iraqi in a fight, rescues the girl and hides the money in his Bradley.

When they finally arrive back in Riad, Saudi Arabia, they are given a hero’s welcome and Thompson is overcome with pride for his gang of misfits and the soldiers they have become. He realizes they truly are heroes.

Against all odds, Anderson ends up back in San Antonio with millions of dollars in the trunk of a rented car. When Thompson and Lieutenant Noble learn of it, they are in a quandary as to what to do. When Lieutenant Noble suggests they form a not-for-profit foundation to hide the money, Anderson asks why they shouldn’t do it for real and start a ranch for homeless and abused children. He is a much deeper thinker than Thompson had realized.

At the grand opening ceremony for their childrens' ranch, General Swartzkoff attends and finds a sign at the entrance to the ranch that says the facility was founded by “THE ARMY FROM HELL!” They received this distinctive name from an Iraqi they captured. When they left Iraq, their Bradleys were all painted red, white and blue, with the name “Army From Hell” emblazoned on their sides. The General surprises Anderson by presenting him with the very Bradley he drove in the Gulf War, still sporting the red, white and blue paint job, to be placed at the entrance to the camp. He also informs Anderson he would never have gotten the money back into The States if authorities had not been told to forget any sort of search of their baggage. Then, he winks and walks away. The General had known all along!

WHERE THE HELL’S THE ENEMY (excerpt)

Major Dravecki smiled and said "Sarge, I don't know where the hell you got the idea these aren't combat troops. That's the damnedest thing I've ever seen."

They stood in the open hatch and surveyed the battlefield. "Man, oh man. It looks like you destroyed the entire damned unit."

Thompson had a wide grin on his face. "Sure as hell looks that way, doesn't it, sir." He keyed the radio. "Is anyone missing or hurt?" No answer. "Anderson?"

"Sure, Sarge."

"Take some of the Special Forces and take charge of the new prisoners. See if any of their trucks still run. If they do, we can ease the crowding a little."

"Sure, Sarge."

They radioed the trucks ahead to come back, then Thompson and Major Dravecky crawled from the Bradley with their weapons at the ready. They didn't really need them. What Iraqis that were left alive were more than happy to surrender. When one of them spoke to Captain Najaf, the captain laughed and translated for them, "The man said we must be the army from hell!"

Major Dravecky viewed the destruction lining the way behind them, moved his head from side to side and said, "Army from Hell, indeed."

"What's that, Major?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about you saying your men weren't trained for combat. Looks to me like they're damned well trained."

Thompson answered with a big grin on his face. "They're not really too bad, are they? I guess they're learning."

Then he started counting Bradleys. He could only count twenty. "Shit! We've got a couple Bradleys missing." He jumped into the Bradley and flipped the radio back on. "I want everyone to report in!"

Everyone but Feldon and Harris answered. "Feldon! Harris! Can you hear me?" The radio remained silent. Once more he punched the mike. "Jiggs, Chico, Gabe, go back and look for them."

Now, he heard from a stranger. "What the hell's going on down there?"

Thompson shook his head at the question and laughed. "Why partner, it's war, they tell me."

"What unit are you?"

"Well, I guess you could say we're the First Special Forces and Twenty-first Transportation Detachment, Combined Combat Force."

"What?"

"We're just some guys lost in the desert trying to fight our way home."

"This is air recon. Do you need assistance?"

"Naw, we're doin' pretty well on our own. But you can tell General Swarzkopf his Special Forces from up at Habbaniyah have been rescued without casualty."

"I copy that. Will relay the message."

Major Dravecky laughed as Thompson spoke to the pilot, who was somewhere overhead. He was used to a totally disciplined force, who would use proper military courtesy when speaking to someone like the pilot. This group was any­thing but disciplined, but they were sure as hell some good soldiers.

Thompson waited for thirty minutes, standing in the hatch of the Bradley with the radio on before he heard from the people looking for Feldon and Harris. Jiggs asked in a terribly sad voice, "You there, Sarge?"

"Yeah, did you find them?"

"Christ, Sarge, they're dead!"

"Where are you?"

"Hell, I don't know, Sarge. Back a ways. We..."

"Jiggs, you there?"

When Jiggs came back on the radio, he tried to talk, but he was crying too hard.

"Jiggs, we'll be there as fast as we can. Pull yourself together."

"Aw man, Sarge! Man, they're blown all ta hell, Sarge! Oh, God!"

"Jiggs! Get away from them! Get ahold of yourself! We'll be right there."

Thompson was stunned, and stood silently gazing out across the desert, as he tried to digest what Jiggs had said. He really hadn't thought about the possibility of any of his men being killed. He was in a state of shock when Major Dravecky pulled the mike from his hand and said, "This is Major Dravecky. Where are you, Jiggs?"

"About five miles west of you. Jesus, Major, they're blown up, man. They're all mangled to hell!"

"Jiggs, you stay right there. We'll be there in a few minutes. Hang in there, soldier."

"But goddamn, Major, what the hell we gonna do with 'em?" There was panic in his voice.

"Jiggs! Listen to me! Get the hell away from them! Get a grip on yourself! That's an order!"

"Yes, sir. Are you coming?"

"Yes, Jiggs. Hang in there, buddy. I'm on my way."

Major Dravecky spoke to Lieutenant Noble, and several of his men climbed into a truck and drove to the west, along with half a dozen of the Iraqi soldiers and Anderson. Anderson wasn't prepared for what they saw. The left half of Harris' face was missing, along with his left arm. Both his legs were gone from the knees down, and his stomach was torn open. Feldon was just half a body. The whole upper half of his torso, along with arms and head was gone. Both of their Bradleys had taken direct hits and had been blown to pieces.

Anderson and two of Major Dravecky's men ran from the scene and vomited. Then Anderson sat on the ground, his arms across his knees, his face resting on his arms, silent. Major Dravecky got his men started on the gruesome task of putting the bodies in plastic bags, then walked over to Anderson and the other men.

"You guys okay?", he asked in a soft voice.

Anderson raised his head far enough to move it back and forth to say no. Hell no, he wasn't okay!

"Look, Andy, why don't you guys go on back. We'll take care of things here."

Gabe Ramirez asked, "My God, Major, what're we gonna do with 'em?"

"Don't worry about it, Gabe. You go on back to join Sergeant Thompson. We'll bring your buddies along."

"That damned Feldon was crazy as hell, but he was a good dude, Major. It wasn't his fault he was all fucked up! This shouldn't have happened to 'im, man!"

Anderson stood and said, "Okay, guys, let's go. We gotta tell the others what happened."

They stood and followed him to the Bradleys and drove back toward Thompson's location. Major Dravecky and his men returned with the bodies half an hour later. Thompson walked to the truck and asked, "Are they really dead?"

"I'm afraid so, Sergeant Thompson. Both their Bradleys took direct hits. I'm really sorry. You need to talk to Jiggs, Sergeant. I think he's in shock. He hasn't said a word."

"Yeah. Thanks, Major." He walked over to Jiggs and put his arm around his shoulders. "C'mon, Jiggs. Let's take a walk." They walked away from the others out into the desert for a hundred yards without speaking. When they stopped atop a small dune and sat down Thompson spoke.

"Jiggs, I'm as sorry as anyone could be about Feldon and Harris. We gotta get out of the country so we can at least get their bodies home, buddy. To do that, we need every man. You with me?"

Jiggs stirred the sand with the point of the knife it seemed all the men carried, but Thompson had known nothing about. He wrote Feldon and Harris in letters that disappeared with the soft breeze as quickly as he wrote them.

"Yeah, Sarge. I'm okay. I just kinda went nuts when I saw 'em. Christ, I wish I had a beer!"

"Yeah, me too. We'll be gettin' outa here before long, Jiggs. I promise you, when we get home you'll have all the beer you can handle. C'mon, lets get back and get the hell outa this goddamned country."

Jiggs didn't answer, but got up and started walking slowly back toward the other men. They rejoined the others and sat on the sand beside their Bradleys. Major Dravecky joined them and asked, "You okay, Jiggs?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm fine."

"I'm really sorry about your buddies."

"Thanks, Major."

Thompson said, "They had no business being here to begin with. None of these guys are trained soldiers."

"I think you underestimate them, Sergeant. Your men are all damned good soldiers."

"What do we do now? We can't leave 'em here!"

"Sergeant, I know it's hard, but we'll have to bury them. We can mark the place and their bodies can be retrieved later. We have no idea how long it'll be until we get out of Iraq, so we can't take them with us."

Anderson said, "Sarge, me and some of the guys'll bury 'em. We'll come back for 'em when we can. They were my friends, Sarge. I think I should bury them."

"I'll help you, Anderson. They were my friends, too."

None of them realized just how badly they were suffering from shock at the loss of their comrades, but they buried the men next to a burned-out Iraqi tank that would be easy to find. The twenty remaining members of The Twenty First Transportation Detachment stood for a long while without saying anything after they filled the shallow graves of their fallen comrades. Finally, Thompson called them to attention and saluted the men they'd buried. He had tears in his eyes as he said, "I promise you, we'll come back and take you home when we can. I'm really sorry I got you killed, fellas." Thompson could say no more for the lump in his throat. He turned and walked quickly away.

Major Dravecky and his men stayed away as Thompson and his men said goodbye to their fallen comrades. When Thompson joined him later, he seemed to be as back to normal as one could expect.

"Major, I think we should move a few miles and camp for the night."

"That's fine with me, Sergeant. Lieutenant Noble's still over by the graves. You want me to go get him?"

"No, I'll get 'im."

Thompson walked to where the lieutenant stood staring at the low mounds of sand. He stood beside him for a moment before either of them said anything. Finally, Lieutenant Noble said quietly, "They're really dead, aren't they?"

Thompson had a hard time saying it himself. "Yes, Lieutenant, they are."

"I never thought this would happen to us. After we took out the men at the missile site, and then broke the Special Forces out without anyone even being wounded, I was sure we'd drive back to Saudi Arabia and be out of the war." Then he said something that truly surprised Thompson. "I wanta pay the bastards back for Feldon and Harris."

"Lieutenant, I doubt we get the chance. We're going to head for the border and get the hell out of this war. It's partly my fault. I have to confess to you, I looked forward to meeting the enemy. I've always been in the rear, and I wanted to experience the battle. But shit, it ain't worth it. People get killed - people you know. We already paid them back well enough. C'mon, Lieutenant. We have to go."

Once more, Thompson ordered all the vehicles to be refueled immediately before they quit for the day. He didn't want to get caught with half fueled vehicles if they were surprised during the night and had to run for it. With the Bradleys spread out in a circle around their camp, Thompson grinned as he thought, "Circle the wagons." Finally, they settled in for a well-deserved rest. Thompson, Lieutenant Noble and Major Dravecky sat together talking about the war and the rumor that it was all but over.

The major said, "I wonder if they've taken out the Republican Guard."

"We were supposed to take these Bradleys to the First Cavalry Regiment. They were way over on the border about a hundred, seventy-five miles from Kuwait and went into Iraq in a direction that would take them straight across to Basra. I think their mission was to get behind the Republican Guard up by Umm Qasr and cut 'em off. If they haven't captured or destroyed them, you can bet they have 'em pinned down."

"You know, Sergeant, you sure don't sound like a motor pool soldier."

Thompson smiled, "I don't know if that's a compliment or an insult, Ma­jor. But I'll tell you what, I'm going to crawl under the Bradley out of the sun and take a nap. I'm not as young as I used to be. I know that's a worn out statement, but the older you get, the more you realize the truth of it." He stretched out on the sand in the shade of the Bradley and fell asleep within minutes.

***

Thompson was jarred awake by the sound of gunfire deafeningly nearby and scrambled from beneath the Bradley. He found Ander­son standing next to the Bradley, his M16 in his hands, a small wisp of smoke still drifting from the barrel of his weapon.

"What the damn hell you doin'?"

"Aw, Sarge, there was a big ol' Scorpion about to crawl up your pant leg, but I got the sonofabitch!"

"So help me, Anderson ... for cryin out loud. Dammit! You scared the shit out of me!"

Anderson walked away grumbling, "Well, shit! You save someone from gettin' stung by a damned scorpion and you get your ass chewed out for it. Shit! I need to kill some fuckin' thing."

Chapter Eight

He knew he wouldn't get back to sleep, so Thompson rejoined Major Dravecky and Lieutenant Noble. They'd been talking about the major and his people getting trapped. As Thompson approached he heard Major Dravecky saying, "I don't know how in the hell they happened to surround us the way they did. It really pisses me off! Here we've trained and trained for just such an operation, and all in hell we've done is get trapped and run around out here in the desert. I don't suppose you'd consider heading for the action, rather than Saudi Arabia?" Thompson looked at him and smiled.

Lieutenant Noble said, "You know, we have a good fighting force here. We just proved that. Do you really want to go east, Major?"

"You're damn right, I do."

Thompson said, "Lieutenant, we can't ask these guys to go looking for combat. What about Feldon and Harris? You want to see more of the men end up like that? We had a real advantage on that last Iraqi force, and we still lost two men. If we go looking for trouble and run into it head on, we're liable to get our asses kicked. That means people killed, Lieutenant. You know what that means? You didn't see Feldon and Harris before they buried them, but you saw the Iraqis ly­ing all over on the ground blown apart, didn't you? There must have been two hundred of them. How would you feel if those were our people?" The lieutenant said no more.

Major Dravecky rubbed the stubble of beard he'd grown since last shaving and said, "You know Sergeant, I could order you to take us east."

"Major, at the risk being disrespectful of your rank, I have to speak frankly. Yeah, you could order us to go east, but before you do, remember, these guys pulled your ass out of a real jam, and they're not trained soldiers. In fact, they're a bunch of losers in civilian life. Some of them live at the Salvation Army in San Antonio. They're losers, but they're actually a good bunch of guys. I'd hate to see them ordered into combat and lose their lives because you want glory for yourself. I guess you could order us to take you east, but I don't think you will."

The major smiled and said, "You're pretty insightful, Sergeant. No, I wouldn't order you to go east, but if you decided you'd like to go that direction, it'd tickle the shit out of my men and me."

Anderson sat behind them taking it all in, and when he moved up and stood over them, Thompson could see his eyes were like two pools of water. The asshole still had some weed hidden somewhere.

"Hey, Sarge, like, why don't we take 'em on over ta the fightin'. I been talkin' ta some of the guys. They like this killin' the enemy shit, and they wanta do a little pay back for Feldon and Harris, man. Captain Najaf has been showin' me how to drive the tank, and that's a tough piece of hardware."

"You think so? How come we splattered them all over the desert, if they're so damned tough?"

"Well, hell Sarge, we're just a hell of a lot better at this shit then they are. They know they're fightin' a losin' cause. And besides that, if the General's goin' to give these dudes a gift of citizenship, we might persuade the Army to compensate us likewise if we come out of this shit a bunch of heroes."

"You know, Anderson, sometimes you amaze me. At times, I think there might be some hope for you, then you turn around and say something stupid, like the Army might give you something extra just for being here. Believe me, I spent time in Viet Nam, and we were anything but heroes af­ter the war."

"But shit, Sarge, this is different. Everybody likes this war, man." This comment was followed by the chuckle of a stoned Anderson.

Having said his piece, Anderson strolled away to where the other men were eating the Iraqi's food. It seemed the Iraqi rations were a lot better than their own.

"I don't care what you say, Sergeant Thompson, your people are soldiers!"

"Maybe." He lay back with his M16 alongside and closed his eyes. Hell, maybe they should take the Special Forces to the fighting. There was always the chance it would be over by the time they got there, anyway. And even though the number of casualties in their recent skirmish was a hundred Iraqis killed for each man they lost, down deep, he wanted revenge for his men's deaths, also. They had enough fuel to get to the border of Saudi Arabia, and if they went that way, they'd be safely out of the war. But was that the coward's way out? He damned sure was no coward. Maybe it was their duty to fight as long as they were able.

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