Much of our practical field training consisted of forming up in our platoons (see below) and undergoing marches which would take us into various situations where invariably someone's legs would be blown off. Each platoon was broken down into four security teams (X1-4) which provided security and two litter teams (L1 and L2) which provided the actual medical care, collected blown off limbs, and carried the stretchers. All teams had individual leaders (marked by *.) The entire platoon itself was additionally headed by a platoon leader (P). A march would begin in two columns with two security teams in the back and two in the front, the litter teams dispersed somewhere in the middle. It would inevitably end with the litter teams running about in varying degrees of order or chaos while the security teams provided some degree of perimeter cover -- or, as in this last case, just watched the mayhem with an amused curiosity. The missions always changed in detail, but they always consisted of a march to an objective, an attack by our various training instructors (TIs) on the platoon, and people getting their legs blown off.
X1 X1 X1 X1* L1 L1 L1 L1* X2 X2 X2 X2*
P
X3 X3 X3 X3* L2 L2 L2 L2* X4 X4 X4 X4*
Two columns of two security teams and a litter team each form a platoon. Or a bunch of random letters.
P
X3 X3 X3 X3* L2 L2 L2 L2* X4 X4 X4 X4*
Two columns of two security teams and a litter team each form a platoon. Or a bunch of random letters.
After the initial orientation and a few dry runs where we mostly just stared at each other in confusion, the majority of our exercises went off relatively well. The first where I was leader of litter team one was uncomplicated thanks to my impeccable leadership skills and, more likely, simple luck and good fortune. The latter exercises also went off without too many casualties save one surgical intern who had a helmet dropped on her head after stepping on a land mine. The helmet was real, the mine just covered her entire left side in red dust which would never come off. Our second mission, however, was a colossal failure, but for those who were there watching it all unfold as part of the perimeter security teams -- of which I was one of them -- it was like staring at a slow moving, never ending train wreck of comedic folly.
The mission as described was to find a downed C130, locate casualties, secure the scene, and evacuate the wounded. Pretty straightforward it sounds, but not so much in action. At least for us. After a short march we reached our designated stop point where our reconnaissance team was sent to evaluate the scene. After returning with the information of what they saw the team leaders and platoon leader collectively deliberated for a number of minutes before coming up with the simple plan of sending the two front security teams to secure the perimeter alone while everyone else just sat back and waited. That was it. No more plan than that. Not surprisingly it all started to fall apart when 5-10 minutes later we began to hear gunfire and explosions about a half mile down the trail where our forward security teams had so nobly previously wandered off to.
Not having any contingency plan for what to do in case of explosion we briefly fell back to the tried and true action of staring at each other in confusion for a few seconds before we all made the collective decision to simply get up and run as fast as we could towards the scene of the action. So off we ran, all sixteen of us in two rear security teams and two litter teams and all in various states of disarray, not entirely sure where exactly we were going or what we were to do when we got there.
We arrived to find a half erected security perimeter set up around a lightly smoking C130 and a few ramshackle cement houses all surrounded by the scrubby trees and dust which make up the majority of south Texas. Carrying only our plastic rifles, canteens, and the same Kevlar helmets and flack jackets that everyone else had, my rear security team passed by the column's litter team in an attempt to complete the half ass parameter that was already in place before they got there. This placed me immediately adjacent to the C130 and privy to all the action which was about to unfold.
The litter teams arrived shortly after we did to what was still a relatively unexciting scene of smoke, sound effects, and people lying around with rifles staring off into the trees pretending to provide cover. One litter team diverted off into a gully on the left to assist some wounded there while my column's litter team headed directly to the right to the downed C130 where, presumably, the bulk of the wounded would be waiting. This latter team, litter team 1, was composed of a motley crew of four: one young, fit, and tall male Army nurse; one young, fit, and tiny female Navy nurse; one older, overweight, and enthusiastic Army physician assistant (PA); and one very old, very huge, and very Colombian Army nurse. Together they approached the smoking aircraft in a disorganized run, but whereas most the team slowed on approach, the PA ran full steam ahead into the back of the craft GI Joe style yelling a heroic, "I'll save you!" This was followed by a loud bang from deep inside the dark aircraft and all went silent.
"I've been shot!"
"Who is it? Where are you?"
"It's me! I've been shot in the chest!"
"How do we know it's you? .... Who won the 2007 Super Bowl?"
"How the fuck would I know! Come get me out of here!"
So went the back and forth between the faceless voice in the front of the blackened plane and the skeptical litter team waiting reluctantly outside the ramp doors of the back of the craft. Finally, either sufficiently persuaded or for lack of anything they could think of better to do, they decided to go in after him.
*BOOM!*
Immediately after their collective decision to enter the C130 the two hundred pound Colombian Army nurse stepped on a land mind placed right outside the plane and was out of action. Within just a few minutes litter team one was down from four medics to two.
"Ahhh! My leg! I lost my leg!" screamed the Colombian clearly enjoying the opportunity to pretend to be wounded as he rolled around the loading ramp of the airplane. His comrades attended to him and began applying tourniquets as taught while he continued to thrash about as imaginary blood loss led to imaginary hysteria. Their task was not made any easier by an impressive size differential as the remaining medics had over a one foot and hundred pound size differential between them. The platoon leader who had been supervising attempted to instruct them towards cover while simultaneously seeking assistance from litter team two who had just recently secured their wounded in the gully. He had mixed results.
Treated but still lying exposed outside the airplane, the bulging Colombian Army nurse was left to wait while the two man litter team one went back into the smoking darkness to retrieve the rest of the injured. The explosions around the landing zone had mostly tapered off by this point, but the sporadic gunfire and incessant yelling from the TIs who offered mostly unproductive or entirely terrible advice continued. The platoon leader continued to shout instructions most of which were either unheard or unheaded. Around this time litter team two came to assist. Not sure of what was going on exactly and hesistant to act they loitered outside the plane.
*Crack!* *Crack!* *Crack!*
Fed up with the chaos and clear lack of command and control, the TIs decided to add to the situation by having one of the newly arrived litter team's legs shot out. Counting the PA still in the front of the plane, the Army nurse bandaged and bleeding outside the plane, and three more disfigured mannequins in the plane itself there were now more wounded than medics. What order there had been completely fell apart as the medics attempted to carry, drag, and pull whatever wounded they could to any semblance of cover available. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that the inside of the cargo jet had been heavily coated with fake blood for the fake bodies. When the medics emerged they would as often as not be covered in as much or more blood than the mannequins themselves, and frequent stops were necessary to reposition and regrip the slippery wounded. The inability to effectively move the heavily lubricated mannequins eventually earned them the term of endearment, "greasy Ken dolls." One more land mine went off, and the mission was over.
The post-mission debriefing was an unhappy and frustrated attempt to explain what exactly went wrong -- essentially everything it turned out -- and what could have been done better -- maybe not step on so many land mines? It was an excellent example of how not to execute a rescue mission which was not too much of a surprise considering none of us had ever done anything at all like it before. I'm not entirely sure if I was supposed to leave my post on security to assist with the moving of bodies, but it likely would have just led to my legs getting blown off. In either case it was an amusing story since in the end we all kept all of our limbs. "I'll save you!" became the catch phrase for our platoon and the battle cry for all further field training during the course.Thankfully no further mannequins had to lose their lives in rest of training.
The mission as described was to find a downed C130, locate casualties, secure the scene, and evacuate the wounded. Pretty straightforward it sounds, but not so much in action. At least for us. After a short march we reached our designated stop point where our reconnaissance team was sent to evaluate the scene. After returning with the information of what they saw the team leaders and platoon leader collectively deliberated for a number of minutes before coming up with the simple plan of sending the two front security teams to secure the perimeter alone while everyone else just sat back and waited. That was it. No more plan than that. Not surprisingly it all started to fall apart when 5-10 minutes later we began to hear gunfire and explosions about a half mile down the trail where our forward security teams had so nobly previously wandered off to.
Not having any contingency plan for what to do in case of explosion we briefly fell back to the tried and true action of staring at each other in confusion for a few seconds before we all made the collective decision to simply get up and run as fast as we could towards the scene of the action. So off we ran, all sixteen of us in two rear security teams and two litter teams and all in various states of disarray, not entirely sure where exactly we were going or what we were to do when we got there.
We arrived to find a half erected security perimeter set up around a lightly smoking C130 and a few ramshackle cement houses all surrounded by the scrubby trees and dust which make up the majority of south Texas. Carrying only our plastic rifles, canteens, and the same Kevlar helmets and flack jackets that everyone else had, my rear security team passed by the column's litter team in an attempt to complete the half ass parameter that was already in place before they got there. This placed me immediately adjacent to the C130 and privy to all the action which was about to unfold.
The litter teams arrived shortly after we did to what was still a relatively unexciting scene of smoke, sound effects, and people lying around with rifles staring off into the trees pretending to provide cover. One litter team diverted off into a gully on the left to assist some wounded there while my column's litter team headed directly to the right to the downed C130 where, presumably, the bulk of the wounded would be waiting. This latter team, litter team 1, was composed of a motley crew of four: one young, fit, and tall male Army nurse; one young, fit, and tiny female Navy nurse; one older, overweight, and enthusiastic Army physician assistant (PA); and one very old, very huge, and very Colombian Army nurse. Together they approached the smoking aircraft in a disorganized run, but whereas most the team slowed on approach, the PA ran full steam ahead into the back of the craft GI Joe style yelling a heroic, "I'll save you!" This was followed by a loud bang from deep inside the dark aircraft and all went silent.
"I've been shot!"
"Who is it? Where are you?"
"It's me! I've been shot in the chest!"
"How do we know it's you? .... Who won the 2007 Super Bowl?"
"How the fuck would I know! Come get me out of here!"
So went the back and forth between the faceless voice in the front of the blackened plane and the skeptical litter team waiting reluctantly outside the ramp doors of the back of the craft. Finally, either sufficiently persuaded or for lack of anything they could think of better to do, they decided to go in after him.
*BOOM!*
Immediately after their collective decision to enter the C130 the two hundred pound Colombian Army nurse stepped on a land mind placed right outside the plane and was out of action. Within just a few minutes litter team one was down from four medics to two.
"Ahhh! My leg! I lost my leg!" screamed the Colombian clearly enjoying the opportunity to pretend to be wounded as he rolled around the loading ramp of the airplane. His comrades attended to him and began applying tourniquets as taught while he continued to thrash about as imaginary blood loss led to imaginary hysteria. Their task was not made any easier by an impressive size differential as the remaining medics had over a one foot and hundred pound size differential between them. The platoon leader who had been supervising attempted to instruct them towards cover while simultaneously seeking assistance from litter team two who had just recently secured their wounded in the gully. He had mixed results.
Treated but still lying exposed outside the airplane, the bulging Colombian Army nurse was left to wait while the two man litter team one went back into the smoking darkness to retrieve the rest of the injured. The explosions around the landing zone had mostly tapered off by this point, but the sporadic gunfire and incessant yelling from the TIs who offered mostly unproductive or entirely terrible advice continued. The platoon leader continued to shout instructions most of which were either unheard or unheaded. Around this time litter team two came to assist. Not sure of what was going on exactly and hesistant to act they loitered outside the plane.
*Crack!* *Crack!* *Crack!*
Fed up with the chaos and clear lack of command and control, the TIs decided to add to the situation by having one of the newly arrived litter team's legs shot out. Counting the PA still in the front of the plane, the Army nurse bandaged and bleeding outside the plane, and three more disfigured mannequins in the plane itself there were now more wounded than medics. What order there had been completely fell apart as the medics attempted to carry, drag, and pull whatever wounded they could to any semblance of cover available. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that the inside of the cargo jet had been heavily coated with fake blood for the fake bodies. When the medics emerged they would as often as not be covered in as much or more blood than the mannequins themselves, and frequent stops were necessary to reposition and regrip the slippery wounded. The inability to effectively move the heavily lubricated mannequins eventually earned them the term of endearment, "greasy Ken dolls." One more land mine went off, and the mission was over.
The post-mission debriefing was an unhappy and frustrated attempt to explain what exactly went wrong -- essentially everything it turned out -- and what could have been done better -- maybe not step on so many land mines? It was an excellent example of how not to execute a rescue mission which was not too much of a surprise considering none of us had ever done anything at all like it before. I'm not entirely sure if I was supposed to leave my post on security to assist with the moving of bodies, but it likely would have just led to my legs getting blown off. In either case it was an amusing story since in the end we all kept all of our limbs. "I'll save you!" became the catch phrase for our platoon and the battle cry for all further field training during the course.Thankfully no further mannequins had to lose their lives in rest of training.
