The Battle of FOB Raider

Our last major training event at Fort McCoy was a Base Defense exercise. This involved the manning – and defending – of a mythical Forward Operating Base, or FOB.

Our Navy unit, as I said before, is fairly small, so in order to do this event, we had to team up with an Air Force unit which was also going through training at the same time. We started out on Day 1 doing actual FOB work at FOB Freedom – learning to guard the gates, do vehicle inspections and personnel inspections.

Day Two, however, would be more complex. We would move out to FOB Raider – a live-fire range where we would be tested as never before.

Because it was a live-fire range, this FOB was one-dimensional, with all the towers on one side aligned on the range, to ensure that all the live ammunition went in one – safe – direction. On the back side, there was a gate with a guard tower. Iraqi actors would come through this gate on foot or in cars throughout the exercise.

On the range in front of the towers was another movie-set like city of wooden building fronts. Also arrayed there were cutouts of Iraqi civilians, mosques, chickens and goats. Among these were a series of the now familiar pop-up targets. But before one could shoot, one had to be careful.

The whole purpose of the exercise – beyond defending the base – was to identify targets clearly before you shot.

No country in the history of warfare has done more than America to reduce the amount of suffering among innocent civilians. But that doesn’t mean it’s always easy to distinguish between friend and foe on the urban battlefield. So quick recognition of insurgents, civilians, Iraqi police, etc. is vital to winning the war and restoring the peace in Iraq.

So although it would be a game, in a sense, our orders at FOB Raider were very serious – do not shoot the wrong targets. Anyone who did would be subject to an investigation. If the shooting was intentional, there would be real-world consequences.

There are a dozen tasks to be done at a FOB. Tower guards, gate guards, entry control point, vehicle inspections, personnel inspections, casualty-collection point/litter bearers, Quick Reaction Force (QRF), radio control and more.

All of these posts had to be filled, and more importantly, they had to be rotated. The exercise would not end until a certain percentage of the unit members had participated in the live fire from the towers or the QRF.

The job of organizing and running the whole FOB operations was centered on the Tactical Operations Center (TOC). There would be an overall commander in charge and an assistant commander who would do the actual work of assigning people to various positions. In our unit commanders’ briefing the day before the exercise, we were told that 45 percent of the work for the entire exercise would be done by the latter person.

And they were right, as I would find out.

Because we were a mixed Navy/Air Force unit, we had to come to an agreement with our sister service on how best to manage the situation. There were 18 Navy and 34 Air Force, so the numbers didn’t give us much clout. The highest ranking Navy officer (myself) was an 0-2 (LTJG) and the Air Force had Two Lt. Colonels, (0-5) a couple of Majors (0-4) and a Captain or two (0-3). So I was clearly outranked, as well as outmanned. It was clear that the overall commander would be an Air Force officer, and the best I could hope for – and what I got – was the assistant’s job.

There, in charge of the board in which I could move people around like a puppeteer, I could at least ensure that my Navy folks were getting the training – and also the rest – that they needed. An Air Force officer was then appointed as my assistant – with the idea that he could take over once I went out to a tower to get some shooting time of my own.

As the exercise began, the base came under sniper fire, and our guys in the towers shot back at insurgents, waiting patiently through dozens of pop-ups of civilians until an insurgent popped up. When they did, our gunners would shoot them down.

The guidelines we had meant rotating each of the seven towers once every two hours. This is a complex task, as only the Sergent of the Guard (SOG) could do this – escorting the replacements to the towers, and swapping them out – all the while ensuring that no live rounds were left in the weapons once the shooters came down from the towers. This was crucial for safety within the FOB.
My plan was to rotate the tower guards first with the Entry Control Point (ECP) people, and then move on to other low-priority jobs.

But nothing ever works that smoothly.

After the first rotation was up, the sporadic fire on our base had been increased. There were now mortars running down. Suddenly, we got a call over the radio:
“Mortars have hit Tower One. We have one casualty, over.”

From there on, it developed into one of the most intense periods of my life. For five straight hours, I was at the center of a massive beehive of activity, trying to bring order out of a firestorm of chaos.

I quickly sent a man from the ECP to Tower One. The injured person was brought to the Casualty Collection Point. On my magnetic white board, I maneuvered two magnetic strips with names on them across the board to reflect the change. So far, so good.

Now it was time to rotate the towers. I started with Tower Seven and began to work back to Tower One.

But before I could act, a mortar hit the ECP, and my ECP commander was out. I quickly appointed a new commander and cancelled my planned move to Tower Seven, since that would leave the ECP down four men – two for Tower Seven, the one I had moved to Tower 1, and the one killed by the mortar. I decided to take them from one of our two litter bearer teams at the CCP instead.

And so it went, on and on. The smooth transition plan by which I would relieve one tower every 15 minutes fell apart completely as the action picked up. As the casualties were “evacuated” by helicopter or pronounced dead, they would regenerate 15 minutes later. But it was never enough, and I was always short-handed. I had originally planned to split time with an Air Force 1st Lt. when I needed a break, but after the first casualties, I had to assign him to a tower and I never got him back. Later on in the day, I brought in a chief from our Navy team to learn my job, but before 15 minutes was out, I needed to replace someone and he was the only one available.

In a real battle, you could close off the main gate, but not here. The instructors ruled that out entirely. So everything proceeded surreally as it would in quiet times, as mortar fire came through. We got word over the radio that the “mayor” of the local Iraqi village was here to meet with us. The Air Force Lt. Col. turned his duties over to me and went outside to hear what he had to say.

“Tower Five has been hit!”

I had just sent a crew to replace Tower Four. It was getting very close to the two-hour mandatory rotation time, and I still had three towers to replace: Four, Two and one man in One (the second being the man who came in an hour into the battle).

One man and one woman (both Air Force people) in Tower Five were now dead, and the tower was completely empty, exposing the base significantly. I had to act quickly.

“Fox 5 to Fox 3” I called over my walkie-talkie to the SOG, who was taking the crew to Tower 4.

“Fox 3 over.”

“Redirect crew en route to Tower Four to Tower Five, over.”

“Fox 3, roger.”

But then that screwed up my relief of Tower Four. Being the central tower, it was the only one that communicated directly with our main radio operators, and served as a relay point for all communication going to all towers. One requirement was that one of the people in the tower be skilled with a radio. I had sent an Air Force guy with those qualifications over to relieve it, but now he was in Tower Five instead.

I turned to the radio operator. (My walkie talkie connected me with only the two SOGs and my runner).

“Get a hold of the ECP. Tell them to release so-and-so and have him report to Tower Four.”
I then took a look at my casualty list. Each name had a time marked on the white board beside it. I checked my watch.

“Fox 5 to Fox 2,” I said into the walkie talkie, calling my runner.

“Fox 2 over.”

“Where are you, Fox 2.”

“Returning from delivering ammunition. Near Tower Six.”

“Get over to the CCP. They have two dead people about to ripen. As soon as they’re back alive, get one of them over to Tower 4 pronto.”

It continued like this all day long. Standing in the TOC, I at least had the benefit of air conditioning, though I still had to wear my body armor. My helmet I could do without, until I heard a mortar round coming near, in which case, everyone in our building grabbed our helmets and took cover on the floor. After ten seconds, we got up and resumed our work.

The situation was growing increasingly more difficult, but between myself, the SOGs and the runner, I had figured out a fairly efficient system, and the action seemed to mellow a little around noon. I opened up my MRE and took a few bites of my Chicken Cavatelli. I never got to finish it, but I did eat all the snacks, including the Vanilla Pound Cake, which was very good.

It was at this lull that I assessed my board. The goal was to get 100 percent (80 percent was acceptable) of our people out as shooters. I had marked with green ink all of those who had done so. The rotation was working, however there was one place we weren’t getting shooters from: right here in the TOC. I decided to see if we could get any time for these people, especially the Air Force Lt. Col.

“Sir, would you like to go to a tower?”

“Yes, if it’s possible.”

“Who would you like to replace you?” Thinking of all the Air Force officers above my pay grade, I made a few suggestions.

“I don’t care,” he said. “You’re doing all the work here anyway.”

It was perhaps an overstatement, but it was a good compliment, so I took it. In the end, I swapped out one of our two radio operators and my runner. Time, and a deteriorating situation made any more impossible.

We had all started the day with plenty of ammunition, but around this time, it became a concern. I got a call that a tower was “amber” (yellow) on ammo. Not having any stores available at that instant, I did the only thing I could. I took the ammo from myself and everybody in the TOC and handed it to the runner. He took it out to the tower.

“Get a call into the BDOC and request more ammo,” I said, referring to the overall FOB command (essentially the instructors), as we had been told to do.

It took some time, but finally the ammo came. From now on, in all the spare seconds I had away from my board, I, along with anybody else who was able, was speed-loading M-16 magazines with ammo.

1300 Hours. Time for the second rotation. Actually, with some towers hit, and others rotated in a staggered cycle, I was always rotating. But more and more casualties made it more and more difficult. I was even having to pull people from the QRF.

The Quick Reaction Force (QRF) actually drove out onto the range in Humvees in simulated action against small targets in the town. To do this safely, three towers shut down when the QRF left, and the other four towers shifted their fire. The QRF folks were all getting their own shooting time, and needed to be an organized team. For this reason, we gave the entire QRF to the Air Force. But necessity forced me to pull from this team.

One big concern was a lack of Combat Life Savers in our medical tent. As they were doing real live IV sticks in the tent, one or two was not enough. We needed four, five, or even six. I began to cycle our CLS personnel (marked on their tags with a red cross) into the CCP. I sent one Air Force 1st Lt. there to help out and she basically took over the show and ran it. Very effectively from all the reports. Suddenly, the CCP was able to operate faster, and that gave me the ability to pull one or two more people from their teams.

Ammo was running down again. At 1311, I put in a call for more ammo. Fifteen minutes passed and the best I had got is that they would try to get us some. Then another 15. I called back. Another 15.

The ammunition supply was now getting critical, and I called for conservation. I then stripped all the ammo from the TOC and from the soldiers on the CCP. The ECP I stripped also, since their job of searching visitors and vehicles did not require the use of live rounds (which would have been impossible to do safely).

“Tower One black on ammo.”

That was not a good sign.

“Fox 2 this is Fox Five. I need Ammo taken to Tower One.”

The ammo arrived. But scarcely had the catastrophe been averted than another tower popped up. And another. It was like ammunition “whack-a-mole.”

The door to the trailer opened. One of my two SOGs came in. “SOG” I was discovering, was appropriate, since it accurately described the soaked state of their uniforms. They were literally running across the base in full body armor. One of them was in his 20s. The other in his 50s. The latter one had come through the door and I told him to sit down a while.

“Tower Seven has 10 magazines.”

“What? Have they been hoarding them?”

“They have so many because every time the QRF goes out of the gate, they have to stop firing.”
It was obvious, but I had missed it. I called to the other SOG and to my runner. Towers Five, Six and Seven would all logically have more ammo than the others. I told them to collect all but three mags and spread them out among the other towers.

That alone bought us another 15 minutes, but there was still no word on the ammo. I began to get a sinking feeling, and remembered the beginning scene in “Star Trek II” where the crew of the Enterprise faced a training scenario that was a true no-win situation. The BDOC was starving us of ammo, which means the training day was coming to an end.

But I didn’t want to end on a losing note, so I called for my guys to conserve ammo and pick their targets carefully. As time went on, they nonetheless started calling in:

“Tower One, black on ammo.”

“Tower Four, black on ammo.”

“Tower Three, black on ammo.”

I turned to one of the Army instructors, who had a mischievous grin on his face. “Can I tell them to fix bayonets?” I asked. He laughed.

By 1420 it was over. Word came over the radio from the BDOC, and the shooting stopped.
I stepped out of the trailer and into the bright sunlight and heat. Slowly the troops were making it back up the hill to the room where we would break the exercise down in an After Action Report.

It had been the most intense five hours of my life, and I was emotionally drained. I had been on my feet constantly, moving constantly, but never left a space bigger than six feet by fifteen.

I had acquitted myself well – all the Army instructors said as much. And our Navy and Air Force Teams, who had been rivals for a month, had somehow coalesced into something effective. Sitting down with them, I looked at their nametags and – at least for the Air Force guys – put faces with the names that I had been moving around the board all day like mere numbers.

The Battle Commander’s position is one of the hardest in the military, but it seemed very simple to me. There were no right or wrong decisions, there was only decision and indecision. You had to make the call, and deal with it, however it worked out. There was no time to second-guess and no time to evaluate. Action did not guarantee success. Inaction, however, guaranteed failure.

It was the end of my training at Fort McCoy. Two days later, I flew out of Wisconsin. Tomorrow, I take another flight, this time to Kuwait. I may never use some of the training that I got at Fort McCoy, but I’ll never forget it. In the back of my mind, however, I know that if the worst ever happens, I’ve had the best preparation I could possibly get short of real battlefield experience.
Here’s hoping that’s all the experience I have.