Moving into Position

Day 576, 00:07 • Published in USA USA • by Heather Fuchs


(read last week's "Shipping Out")

True to form our ace pilot had dropped us all within one click of each other. It only took minutes for my platoon to gather and begin walking. Moments after that each platoon fell into marching formation with the whole Charlie Company around us and off we went at a speed most civilians couldn't imagine.

Ahh that marching formation. How many hours - no, strike that- hundreds of hours had we marched together like this. A well trained MI company could cover 50 miles in a day, fully loaded with gear, and be rested and ready to fight when we got there. I've heard stories of infantrymen who could sleep while they marched in perfect formation, but I've always been suspect of that one.



Three shoulders over I see Doolin O'Wagner, moving forward like the rest of us, but I swear his eyes are closed. "No way" I laugh to myself. He isn't proving that old tale true is he? I roll up a heavy tinfoil ball from the cover on the MRE I just finished for lunch and threw it at the back of his head. SMACK! It bounced off... and he never missed a step or turned to see who had thrown it. By now several others around him had noticed as well, and by the time I yelled "Doolin you are the MAN!" the added respect that guy had already earned by everyone in the Mobile Infantry was legend.

Just before we got to camp we passed another tiny village. You can't believe the pride that swells up inside a fighting man or woman when you see all these people pour out into the street to welcome you. Obviously they had seen our camp being set up just outside their town before we got there. Without any words exchanged, they knew we were there to liberate them. Funny how freedom is a universal concept no matter what language you speak. Elderly women wearing old torn shawls, their face the color of the dust on the road, waving worn South African flags.

I'm telling you every back was ramrod straight was we walked that dusty street, the sides lined with locals cheering us on in their native tongue. I looked ahead and saw one particularly aged couple.. leaning on each other and a short wooden stick for support. But in their collective one free hand they clasped a tiny American flag. How in the world they got that is beyond me, but I'm not ashamed to say tears of pride were streaming down my face as I marched by. I swear in that moment Mobile Infantry could have taken down the entire "PEACE" organization with our bare hands!

When we camp close to a village like this the locals will often take some of us in for the night. Our Quartermaster loves it because then he doesn't have to feed so many of us brutes, and he knows every Mobile Infantryman will be in the line at role call in the morning no matter where he or she bunked. We traveled half way around the world to fight; we're not going to miss it now.



A middle aged woman leans out, taps me respectfully on the arm, and beckons me to follow her. I gently step out of the column and turn to walk up the narrow dirt path to her home. Feeling fortunate to have such honor bestowed on me, knowing my bunk is likely to be just a littleeeee more comfortable than the one in camp, and my evening meal just a little more interesting.

Hearing the hoots and whistles from my mates I'm distracted and turn to see what is causing the ruckus. They are all grins and catcalls, with fingers pointing in the direction of the small home I had started walking toward at the request of my hostess. "What has gotten into these apes." I ask myself out loud, then turn to continue my short walk up the path.

In a very un-soldierly manner I stop dead in my tracks as my gaze finally makes it to the small shade covered door of the house where I will be staying. There stands what has to be the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Her black hair glistens as it cascades over her shoulders. Her eyes as dark as her hair, but filled with light and happiness. "Oh my.. this is going to be one enjoyable evening!"


(read Part Three "Taking Care of Business")

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Respectfully submitted
Major Dania
Mobile Infantry Press Officer

We on this continent should never forget that men first crossed the Atlantic not to find soil for their ploughs but to secure liberty for their souls. ~Robert J. McCracken

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