With the Guard’s main defense breached, it was time to roll up those battle positions that had not been taken out by the air assault troopers, the artillery, or the direct fire Medway and other fire support elements had provided during the ground assault. This had been foreseen and planned for in all the ops plans, from division on down. But since there was no way of knowing what Guard forces would still be active and where they would go once they began pulling away from their initial fighting positions, no one could formulate detailed plans or synchronize all of the units involved in this phase. This part of the fight was very much in the hands of the commanders who were forward with the division’s lead elements. It was a battle of captains and colonels. Scott, stranded in his forward command post, could do little to influence its outcome. He could only redirect division assets when and where they were requested by his subordinate commanders and pray that their training, knowledge, and war fighting skills would see them through.

It was with no small amount of relief that Sergeant First Class Samuel Decon watched Major Medway’s M-1 trundle off and head north to join a tank battle that was already being joined somewhere over there. Decon was exhausted, worn out from the stress, physical exertion, and nervous energy that are part of battle. A momentary feeling of joy that he felt over surviving that night’s ordeal quickly passed when his eyes fell upon the dejected faces of the Idaho Guardsmen his platoon had gathered up. To a man they wore the same uniform as his people did, even down to the cloth tape embossed with “U.S. Army” that all soldiers wore over their left front shirt pocket. The men that they had been fighting and killing were fellow Americans. Walking over to the group, Decon took the canteen from its carrier, unscrewed the cap, and handed to one of the Guardsmen. “I hope this has been worth something to someone,” the platoon sergeant mumbled.

The Guardsman accepted Decon’s canteen but said nothing. It wasn’t in his power to place value on their efforts or justify their sacrifices. Like Smith he was just an agent of his duly appointed superiors. Decon and the Guardsman were soldiers, no different from the thousands of soldiers scattered all about them. They had been called on to sort things out by placing their lives in mortal danger when those in positions of authority could not find words powerful enough to overcome their own pride or stubbornness.

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 24

GOWEN FIELD, IDAHO MID-MORNING, NOVEMBER 11