Where the Hell's the Enemy?: The Army from Hell

By Bill MacWithey

Where The Hells 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, thats 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 neer 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 dont even have uniforms.

When they arrive is Saudi Arabia, Thompson is nervous as hell theyll 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 Thompsons 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, Thompsons 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

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 30, 2000
• ISBN: 9781462841196

Bill MacWithey

Bill MacWithey has written many articles and columns on everything from writing to politics. A political advisor and newspaper columnist for 15 years, he conducts fiction writing seminars and teaches creative writing in adult education programs. With fourteen novels in various genres to his credit, Bill MacWithey is one of today’s most prolific authors.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Master Sergeant Gerry Thompson watched the men put the kids in canoes and paddle them downstream. What a different group they were than when he first met them. It was so peaceful there along the Medina River north of San Antonio, it was hard for him to imagine that war even existed. He watched the water sparkling in the sun, as it dashed in and out among the rocks strewn about in the river bottom. The mockingbirds sang their stolen songs in the tall cypress trees lining the river, and the scent of Mountain Laurel was strong in the air. A soft breeze washed over Thompson, as he sat in the shade of a huge live oak tree, high above the river.

Sergeant Thompson was formerly regular army, but now a member of the army reserve. His eyes moved from the river to his boot, as he caught sight of something moving out of the corner of his eye. A scorpion—a great big scorpion—his stinging tail raised menacingly.

When Thompson flicked it off into the rocks with a stick, the scorpion scurried away amidst the rocks, searching for a safe haven from the brutal monster attacking him. Thinking back to how Anderson scared him half to death, shooting a scorpion with his M16 rifle, Thompson smiled. What an asshole Anderson was back then.

But then he thought of the men they’d lost in the desert sands—the heroes who had come home in coffins. Now, the sparkling water of the river, the men frolicking with the kids, the tree covered hills on the other side of the river, everything—became blurred, as tears welled in his eyes. Then, he heard shrill screams and laughter from the kids down on the river. Wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, Thompson looked down to the river and saw Anderson deliberately fall out of a canoe every time he tried to climb back in. The kids loved it, and their screams and laughter seemed to fill the entire valley. Thompson’s smile returned, and his thoughts returned to his first encounter with this group of Citizen Soldiers.

CHAPTER ONE

Gerry Thompson enlisted in the Army right out of high school. He served twenty years by the time he was 37 years old and retired to San Antonio, Texas. After trying to live on his retirement pay for almost a year, he decided to go into the reserves for the extra six hundred dollars a month he’d earn. When Thompson first met Lieutenant Noble, he immediately knew the man wasn’t qualified to command a latrine, much less a military unit. The short, freckled-faced redhead was a lawyer in civilian life, but from what Thompson had heard, the lieutenant’s law practice was anything but good.

Uh, how are you Sergeant? Welcome to the Twenty-First. I’m Lieutenant Noble, commanding officer.

Glad ta meet ya, Lieutenant. Where’s everyone, Sir?

Oh, gosh, I don’t know. I think maybe some of the guys are over at the snack bar. The lieutenant seemed embarrassed by Thompson’s question and looked at the wall of the small office as he spoke.

Excuse me, Sir, but this is a duty week-end, isn’t it?

Uh … yeah. Again, the lieutenant avoided Thompson’s eyes and played with papers laying on the thoroughly disheveled desk top.

Sir, what do you do on duty week-ends?

Well, uh, we … mostly, we show up and sign in, but there really isn’t anything much to do.

Thompson quickly learned that anything that got done in the unit, he had to do himself. He couldn’t depend on Lieutenant Noble for diddly. Most weekends, only half the men showed up, and they could usually be found in the base snack bar drinking beer and reading girly magazines. About half the men in the unit were so down-and-out, they lived at the Salvation Army Center.

* * *

He’d been in the unit about three months when they were scheduled to go to Fort Ord, California for their summer encampment, even though it was already fall. On the Monday before they were to leave, Thompson received a phone call from Lieutenant Noble. Sergeant, I want to have a planning session tomorrow night before we leave for Fort Ord.

A planning session, sir?

Yes, I have an idea how we can take advantage of the trip to make it a little more enjoyable for everyone.

Like what, sir?

That’s what we’ll talk about tomorrow night. Can you be at the Holiday Inn Airport tomorrow evening?

Thompson wanted to tell him no, but told him he’d be there—mostly out of curiosity as to what this pip-squeak lieutenant had in mind.

You did draw your advance pay for the trip, didn’t you, Sergeant?

What advance pay?

Oh, I guess I forgot to tell you. You can go to finance at Fort Sam and get two hundred dollars in expense money for the trip.

Thanks, Lieutenant. That’s nice to know.

Okay, I’ll see you in the dining room at seven. Uh, I mean, uh, eighteen hundred.

I’ll be there.

Of course, eighteen hundred would be six o’clock, but Thompson sure as hell didn’t want to try to explain military time to the lieutenant on the phone. He’d have been tied up all night! Thompson had just gotten a beer from the refrigerator and settled down on the sofa to watch a football game, when the phone rang again. What the hell now!

"Hey, Sarge, this is Gabe Ramirez. Did the lieutenant call ya?»

«Yeah, he called.»

«Well, look, Sarge, my old car broke down and Chico or Bobby don’t have a car, man. How ‘bout you pick us up fer the meetin’, amigo?"

What the hell do you think I am, a taxi service?

Aw, Sarge, we ain’t got no other way ta git there, man.

He swore under his breath and asked, Where?

You know where the Salvation Army is on South Alamo? That’s where we’re stayin’. Kinda temporary, ya know?

Yeah, I know where it is. I’ll be there at eighteen-thirty. Be waiting out front.

Uh, Sarge, what the hell’s that eighteen-thirty shit?

That’s six thirty.

Oh, okay. Hey, Sarge, ya gotta talk civilian or Mexican ta me, man. I don’t understand that military shit. Mira, Amigo. We’ll see ya at six thirty.

The following morning, when he presented his orders for summer encampment at the finance office at Fort Sam Houston, the woman behind the counter asked, Are you First Sergeant of the Twenty-First Transportation Detachment?

Master Sergeant Thompson, ma’am. He hated to admit he was associated with the unit.

Do you know one of your men is in the stockade, Sergeant?

What? Who is it?

Corporal Anderson. It seems he wanted one of the girls here to go out with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was a little drunk, and I finally had to call the MPs.

Thompson cussed under his breath and said, I’m really sorry. Could you direct me to the stockade?

He drove across the base, which had been built in the days of the cavalry, and looked absentmindedly at all the beautiful old houses with the little plaques in the front yards. The plaques announced that this colonel or that major lived within. When Thompson walked into the small, little-used stockade, he shook the duty sergeant’s hand and introduced himself, Sergeant Thompson. I understand you have one of my men here.

What’s the name?

Anderson. Corporal Anderson.

He’s one of yours, huh? The desk sergeant moved his head from side to side with a disgusted look on his face.

Yeah, I’m afraid so. Look, Sergeant, he’s supposed to go to Fort Ord with us. Is there some way I can get him out of here?

Sure. He can leave if you’ll sign to be responsible for him, and get him to hell off the post.

Where do I sign?

When the proper form was filled out and he’d signed it, the MP sergeant picked up the phone and ordered Anderson to be brought out. A few minutes later, an MP appeared with the thoroughly bedraggled looking Corporal Anderson. His clothes looked as though they’d been slept in for a month, and his hair was long, stringy and filthy. Thompson couldn’t understand how a man could let himself become so damned miserable appearing. This young man would be a nice looking person if he was decently groomed and dressed and didn’t make such an ass of himself.

Hey, Sarge, you bustin’ me outa here? Man, the food in this place sucks. It’s a hell of a lot better at the Salvation Army.

Shut up, and get out to the car.

Not so fast! If you wanta take him outa here, you’ll have to agree to take him to finance and make him apologize to the ladies. He got pretty damned vulgar with them.

Thompson assured him he’d make Anderson apologize. When they were outside he asked Anderson, What the hell’d you say to that girl?

Aw hell, Sarge, the dam’ girl wants my body, but just didn’t wanta say so in front of the other women.

What the hell did you say to her? Thompson was getting even madder at Anderson’s reluctance to tell him what he said to the girl.

I told her she had a really good lookin’ ass that I’d love to bite just before I put my face in her crotch.

Now, he yelled at the idiot. You have to be the crudest sonofabitch I’ve ever met, Anderson.

Shit Sarge, most girls like that kinda talk. How’d I know she’d be a damn ice cube?

Most of the girls you know can be found downtown selling their ass on the street! Maybe you can talk to them that way, but not to decent girls.

Thompson gave Anderson hell all the way back to finance. When they pulled up in front of the small building he told him, You go in there and apologize real nice-like, or I’ll take your ass back to the stockade and let you rot!

Sure, Sarge.

The women were noticeably bothered by Anderson’s presence, but Thompson told them, Corporal Anderson has come to apologize to you ladies.

Anderson made a sweeping bow as he said, Ladies, I am truly sorry that I offended your sensibilities. Please accept my humble apology.

Now, get back out to the car!

When Anderson was gone, Thompson finally filled out the necessary paperwork and drew his travel money. As he got in the car he said, Look, asshole, I had to sign to be responsible for you, so you keep your ass out of trouble or you’ll find out what real trouble is. You understand?

Sure, Sarge. Listen, could you pick me up for the meeting tonight?

You know, Anderson, you’ve got more goddamned gall than anyone I’ve ever met! Why the hell should I?

You said you didn’t want me ta get inta any more trouble. If I’m not there, the lieutenant might get pissed and I’ll be in trouble all over again.

Thompson couldn’t believe the nervy asshole, but he had to go pick the other assholes up at the Salvation Army, so one more asshole wouldn’t make a lot of difference. You be at the Salvation Army tonight at six-thirty. I’m picking a couple of the other guys up.

Hey, you’re alright, Sarge.

And Anderson, get that damned filthy hair washed and cut, and change clothes! If you don’t get your hair cut, I’ll cut it for you, and you wouldn’t like my barbering! You show up for the meeting tonight looking half-decent. You got that?

No sweat, Sarge. He grinned and waved his hand in a don’t worry gesture.

They continued into town silently and, after he dropped Anderson off downtown and was driving home, Thompson thought about spending two weeks with him during summer encampment and wished there was some way to get out of all this. He hated the idea of going to encampment with this bunch and wondered what the hell the lieutenant wanted to have a planning session for. All in hell they had to do was get in the trucks and drive down the damned highway! He thought about each of the men in the unit, and knew there was just one other man he could depend on. Jorge Chavez had been in the infantry for three years and was a pretty good soldier, but other than him, well, they were pretty bad.

The football game was over two hours before he was to pick the men up, so he went to the restaurant where Michelle worked to have a bite to eat and kill a little time. He’d met Michelle shortly after getting out of the army and had immediately liked her. Michelle was a rather plain woman, with a nondescript face that looked liked many overworked, underpaid waitresses, whom the customers rarely really noticed until their coffee cup was empty and hadn’t been refilled. But she had a warm smile and a pleasant manner. She did have a great shape for a woman her age, which Thompson guessed to be about thirty-two or three, but the truth of which she never told him. They’d been an item for about a year now.

When he walked into the restaurant, Michelle met him at the door. I saw you pull into the parking lot. What’ve you been up to, lover?

You don’t wanta hear about it.

She laughed, "It could only have to do with your going on encampment.

What makes you think so?

Hell, Gerry, the only time I ever see you mad is when you go to the base on duty week-ends. She led him to a booth toward the rear of the dining room as she spoke. And the only time I’ve seen you in a bad mood was when it had something to do with the men in your unit.

Well, you’re right. It does have to do with summer encampment. I don’t know if I can stand that bunch of jerks for two weeks. My God, you know the damn lieutenant wants to have a planning session tonight. Hell, there’s nothing to plan—just get in the damned trucks and drive. But that pipsqueak thinks he has to have a planning session! I wish I could find a decent job. I’d get the hell out of the reserves.

I know just what you need. She smiled at him, and he knew just what she was talking about. How about a steak and baked potato?

That’s not really what you were talking about, is it?

Michelle gave him her sexiest look and said, No, but I’m afraid it’s a little public here to make out.

You’re somethin’ else, Michelle. She always had a way of making him laugh, regardless of how lousy a mood he was in. Okay, I’ll have the steak and potato for now, but when you get off work, I’ll have what I really want.

Aw Gerry, why do you always do that to me? I’ve got five hours before I get off work, and now I’ll walk around horny ‘til then.

The wait makes it all the better.

Anyone ever tell you you’re a butthole, Sergeant Thompson?

Fetch my food, woman. I’ll need my strength!

Michelle performed her sexiest walk, as she moved toward the waitress alley, knowing he’d be watching.

Gerry left the restaurant and made the trip to the south side of town again. Making a u-turn, he stopped in front of the men at exactly eighteen-thirty. Chico, Gabe and Anderson sat on the curb awaiting his arrival.

As Thompson headed back north on South Alamo Chico said, Hey Sarge, we really appreciate this, man.

Look, Chico, don’t give me any more of that poor Mexican bullshit. I’ve heard all of it i wanta hear. if you damned guys would lay off the wacky weed, you’d have the money to fix your car.

Anderson laughed, Sarge, why would we mess with that shit? Ain’t it illegal? They all chuckled, but Thompson didn’t think it was even a little funny and told them so.

There’s none of you have any of that shit with you now, is there? You get me in trouble with dope and I’ll shoot every damned one of you.

Naw, hell, Sarge, we wouldn’t carry that shit around with us.

* * *

They found Lieutenant Noble waiting in the dining room, and he told them he wanted to wait until everyone was there before telling them what he had planned. Thompson waited for about twenty minutes and was getting pretty impatient, when he looked over and saw Gabe Ramirez lighting a joint! He got out of his chair, went to their table, grabbed the joint and smashed it in the ashtray.

In a low voice, he told him, Listen, you stupid asshole, if I ever see you smoking again, I’ll haul your ass to the law myself

Hey, it ain’t no big deal. I’ll betcha, ya go back in the kitchen, you’ll see a cook or dishwasher smokin’, man.

I don’t give one damned iota what they do in the kitchen! You don’t do it in front of me or anywhere near me!

When he returned to where the lieutenant sat Lieutenant Noble asked, What was that all about, Sergeant Thompson?

Just telling the men to behave. He thought to himself, This jerk wouldn’t know a joint from a donkey dick!

Lieutenant, with all due respect, what the hell’s this all about?

Lieutenant Noble leaned across the table and said, Look, we have to go close to Las Vegas on the way to California, so why don’t we leave tomorrow and stop there for a couple of days on the way?

Lieutenant, Las Vegas is probably three hundred miles off our route. I suppose you want to use the government credit cards to buy fuel?

Sure. Why not?

Well, what’s going to happen when someone sees tickets for fuel so far off the route?

No one ever looks at that stuff, Sergeant. Besides, if they did discover it, we could tell them we got lost.

The only way I’m going to California by way of Las Vegas, is you make it an order in writing, but quite frankly, it’s a dumb idea, Sir.

It is not a dumb idea! Lieutenant Noble leaned back in his seat and pouted for several minutes, arms folded across his chest, before pulling a notebook from his pocket. He scratched out, I, First Lieutenant Larry Noble, do hereby order Sergeant Thompson to leave for Fort Ord, California on the 10th of October, and follow the route which I designate. He signed it, tore the page out of the notebook and handed it to Sergeant Thompson. Of course, it wasn’t really worth the paper it was written on, but if it came to a court martial, it might offer Thompson some protection.

I’ll be at the base at 0600 tomorrow morning. That’s six o’clock, Lieutenant. Saying nothing further, he walked out of the motel dining room and drove away, leaving the men from the Salvation Army to find their own way home.

Thompson drove directly to Michelle’s house. He had dated Michelle longer than any other woman he’d known. When he was down in the dumps or worried, she always cheered him up—most often by taking him to bed. This time was no different, and it was the wee hours of the morning when he finally went home and packed for the trip to California after fulfilling his the promise he’d made her earlier in the evening.

Although Thompson was at the base at 0600, it was noon before the men were all assembled and ready to leave. Of course, Thompson was more than a little pissed at the delay and having to wait around for everyone to show up. When he thought they were all ready to leave, he asked Lieutenant Noble, You did sign out for the vehicles, didn’t you, Lieutenant?

Oh, do I have to?

Yes, Lieutenant, you do.

I just supposed you took care of that.

It’s required of the commanding officer, sir.

Oh, okay. I’ll be right back.

Uh, Lieutenant, you do have the credit cards?

Lieutenant noble pulled them from his front pants pocket and waved them at him as he walked away. He had a big grin on his face, as if to say, See, I don’t screw everything up. Now, they had to wait some more, and Thompson wondered if the lieutenant could even find the motor pool.

Lieutenant Noble had drawn every penny out of his savings and checking account to take to Las Vegas. He was behind in his house payments and car payments, and had already closed his office due to lack of money to pay the rent. Now, he hoped to set things straight by winning enough money in Las Vegas to get out of the hole.

They left the base with the lieutenant leading the way in a jeep, Thompson following in a personnel carrier, and the rest of the men behind him in six duece-and-a-half trucks. The Lieutenant had wanted to take eleven vehicles. His reasoning was that it would even out to two men to a truck. Thompson had argued him down to six.

They moved out New Braunfels Avenue and onto Loop 410 and had gone about four miles around the loop when Anderson came on the radio, Hey Sarge, I have to go to the bathroom.

We have about fifty miles to our first scheduled rest stop. Stay off the radio unless it’s an emergency!

Man, this is an emergency.

Anderson! Stay off the damned radio! You’ll just have to wait!

I guess I’ll just have to stand on the running board and take a piss, Sarge.

Anderson was on the passenger side of the third truck back and, as Thompson watched in the mirror, he climbed out on the running board, pulled his penis out and relieved himself on the highway. This area along loop 410, which circles completely around the city, was quite heavily traveled and lined with businesses and shopping malls on either side. Thompson yelled over the radio, Anderson, get the hell back in the goddamn truck!

Lieutenant Noble asked, What’s going on back there, Sergeant?

Thompson gritted his teeth and said, Corporal Anderson is standing on the running board, taking a piss in front of God and country.

Oh, okay.

Anderson, you’ve got one coming. Don’t you dare pull another stunt like that or you can be damned sure you’re gonna be in front of a court martial board. I promise!

"Aw shit, Sarge, I ain’t in the regler dam army. Neither are you.

You’re in the regular damned army for the next two weeks, asshole. And you can be court martialed for the next two weeks. You’re subject to all army laws for the next two weeks, like it or not. You pull another stupid stunt like that and you’re ass’ll be in jail! You understand that, Corporal?

Sure, Sarge.

Lieutenant, do you know your way to Las Vegas?

Of course, I do. I’ve flown there a half dozen times.

I didn’t mean in the air, Lieutenant. I meant on the highway. Do you know your way on the ground?

That’s a roger, Sergeant.

Well, you should have turned back there at Interstate 10.

There was no answer, just the sudden slowing of the lieutenant’s jeep. He left the loop at the next exit and made a u-turn under the freeway. They stayed on the frontage road and backtracked about a mile, then Lieutenant Noble got on Interstate 10 and even went west, just as he should.

Shortly after turning onto I-10, Gabe Ramirez asked, Hey, Sarge, is it true they have legal whores in Vegas?

Who wants to know?

It’s me, Gabe.

Well, Gabe, stay to hell off the radio. This ain’t no Las Vegas charter bus. It’s a military convoy, and you guys are breaking every damned rule in the book! Stay to hell off the radio!

A few minutes later, the lieutenant asked, Is that true, Sergeant?

Is what true, Lieutenant?

Do they really have legal prostitutes in Las Vegas?

Yes, Lieutenant, they really do.

Hmmm.

They’d gone about twenty miles west on I-10 when the APC Thompson drove began to sputter and ran out of gas. He grabbed the radio and spoke to Lieutenant Noble, who was buzzing along oblivious to the fact that his convoy had pulled off the highway. Lieutenant, we’ve stopped. You might want to wait up for us.

What’d you stop for?

The dumb ass who was supposed to fuel the APC didn’t.

Why not?

Thompson couldn’t control his anger and yelled, Because he’s a stupid sonofabitch! That’s why! I’m going to have to dump the Gerry cans in the tank. That is if they’re filled like they’re supposed to be!

Okay. I’ll turn around and come back. Lieutenant Noble sounded as though he was disgusted at having his trip to Las Vegas delayed.

It was a long trip, with someone having to stop to go to the toilet every thirty minutes, just like a bunch of kids, but they finally pulled into the outskirts of Vegas on the morning of the third day.

Thompson figured they could stay in Vegas for two days before heading on to California, and he insisted they get a motel room. He hadn’t had a shower since the morning they left San Antonio, and he was sure Chico, who was riding with him and sharing his room, hadn’t taken a bath in a week or more. The first thing he said when they went in the room was, You go ahead and take the first shower, Chico.

Hey, that’s nice of you, Sarge. I think my deodorant gave out about three hundred miles back.

More like two weeks ago, amigo.

Chico just laughed as he headed into the bathroom.

While they were getting into civilian clothes to go to the strip Chico asked, Sarge, how come you’re in the reserves?

I guess the same reason you are—for the money.

But you get retirement pay, don’t you?

Yeah, but it doesn’t pay the bills.

As Chico sat down on the bed to pull his shoes on he shook his head and said, Man, you got too much. I get by fine on a lot less money.

Well, what can I say? Thompson didn’t tell him that some people wanted more than living at the Salvation Army, but for all their screw-ups and being poor excuses for soldiers, Thompson would never deliberately hurt their feelings with a cutting remark.

As they rode the bus toward the strip Thompson told them, Look, you have to have money to eat for the next two weeks. You lose all your money and you’ll go hungry, so hang onto some of it. Even as he spoke, Thompson knew his words were lost on them, but he tried. He also gave up on the idea of trying to keep tabs on the men, but told them to be at the