Aggressors

D Vautier 7/2015

A long standing and well founded military belief holds that you should never, under any circumstances, volunteer for anything, anywhere, at any time, especially for strange sounding things like KP, GI parties, fire watch, CQ (charge of quarters), and guard duty.  Although these activities may actually sound interesting, believe me they are not.  They are fundamentally and overwhelmingly boring, certainly able to drive any normal human being into total insanity.  So, faced with the prospect that nobody volunteers for anything, at any time or at any place, the way things get done in “This man’s Army” is;

“I need three volunteers, you, you, and you.”  

But, of the many things associated with army life, the best was going out and having some fun playing aggressor.  I actually volunteered for this job because it gave me some kind of purpose in my monotonous, humdrum and completely unfulfilled existence.

When artillery units went on bivouac, it was the practice of other units within that same battalion or corps to mount aggressor attacks against them.  The idea was to keep an outfit on its toes, test their perimeter, and have a little bit of excitement just for shits and giggles.  Most important, it makes things look good for the battery when it successfully repulsed an aggressor attack--something the battery commander can put in his report.  So everybody looked good.

The typical aggressor did not show rank and had a lot of camouflage all over his face, eyebrows, cheeks, neck, and forehead.  Most importantly his rifle was equipped with the “blue flag”, which was a device that fit down the barrel of an M-14, thus preventing any accidental discharge.  Aggressors were allowed to carry several magazines of blank ammunition.  If by any chance a real round happened to be chambered, the rifle would probably explode or do something really bad to the "blue flag" and the person behind the trigger.

Artillery units were instructed to defend their perimeters, and not make any attempt to interdict or capture aggressors (live and let live).  Artillery was not infantry.  The mission of the perimeter was to defend equipment and that's about all, so aggressors could make several attacks on different parts of the perimeter without any fear of being captured, so our unit did not take this seriously.

On one occasion we were bivouacked near some armor units.  Now I have to tell you that armor guys take soldiering very seriously--they are a different kind of animal (almost like marines who are the true animals).  Besides it was a dark night with no moon, and as lady luck would have it, our team got mixed up and attacked the wrong unit--an armor unit.

I was low to the ground firing away just having a great time, while those guys on the perimeter in front of me went scrambling all over the place.  Boy was this a blast!  Funny thing but their equipment looked strange, and they didn’t act like our guys—far too “gung-hoo” and serious to suit me, and I suspected that something was going terribly wrong.

All of the sudden I heard a loud roar, turned around and was staring up at a very large menacing Sherman M-1 tank.  So I did what any reasonable red-blooded American would do in such a situation.  I threw up my hands and hollered, “I surrender, I surrender.”

They captured everyone of us--all seven in the team.  We were a sorry-ass bunch.  We were immediately separated, taken to interrogation tents and questioned.  I had a notion to say, “Er, sorry guys, but we attacked the wrong unit.  Thanks for the thrills.  It's been fun but can you please just kind of turn us loose now and we can be on our way.  You see we're Artillery guys and we just don't attack armor units--not every day....that is.  You understand.  No hard feelings, OK, how about it?”

But something inside of me said that I better play this one strait up by the book.  ”Under the rules of the Geneva convention I am only required to reveal my name, rank, and serial number. E-3 specialist Vautier, Ra 19811874.”  So for the next hour or so I kept repeating the same thing.

After what seemed like an eternity our platoon sergeant came and we were released into his custody.  “You sorry bunch of retarded knuckle-dragging candy-asses.  You attacked an armor unit!  I can't believe this.  And you guys are supposed to be surveyors?  Ha! That’s the biggest joke in the world.  Why you couldn’t find your asses with your hands tied behind your back.”  And so the derision and ridicule began and continued unabated for the next few days and weeks.  We thereafter had the unenviable distinction of being the only aggressors from our battery who were ever actually captured.