All the while, machine guns were chattering, grenades exploding, tanks rolling and sometimes knocking into each other. Men constantly yanking their mates out of the path of the treads, or clear of the blasts of the 75-guns.

As the column pushed toward Chenogne, the adrenaline of the day squeezed out of Kennet’s bones. Time swelled out of meaning. It sped up and slowed down. The little bits of action that got him from here to there went fuzzy, or missing.

“You okay, Fish?” Hook said, hanging onto the strap of Kennet’s rifle.

“I’m just tired.”

“Stay on the Hook.”

“I will,” said the Fish. “I will…”

Extraordinary Soldiers

The company didn’t get far into Chenogne. It was past sunset when the officers decided to dig in, with Company B on one side of the road, Company C on the other.

Kennet’s squad did a quick huddle-up to count heads. To the outward eye, it seemed no different than the other times they’d gathered to talk. But they’d been different men then. Yesterday they were individuals. Today, they were a unit.

None of the men in my squad are extraordinary soldiers, Kennet wrote. But I’m learning that an army that relies solely on the extraordinary is an army that will soon fail.

We train in strictly defined units of squad, platoon, company, battalion, and we expect to stay within those confines on the battlefield. Instead, we’re gathered up like dice, shaken and thrown out in random combinations. I found myself fighting by men I’ve never said good morning to, following orders from a CO I’ve never seen before. And yet fighting and following seamlessly, because we’ve all been trained exactly, precisely the same way.

The Army was a factory, churning out millions of generic parts that could function and cross-function in any unit. Across the country in hundreds of bases, every inductee looked the same, every barracks looked the same, every bed made the same and locker organized the same. You fucked up and everyone paid the price. You excelled not by being your best, but by making the unit its best. Excellence was measured by men trained to do rote, plain, dull and boring things under extraordinary circumstances. This was the basic fuel on which the complex military machine ran.

Run from here to there. Don’t ask why. Don’t question. Run from here to there, then stop and wait for the next direction.

Simple.