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I had a bit of a daydreaming session today.I was thinking back to one of the first small patrols I conducted in the Alaska mountains.Keep in mind (obviously) this was with blanks and M.I.L.E.S. gear-laser tag. We had sat in an O.P. for several days watching an empty intersection. Watching boogers dry would've been more fun. After quite a while, there was no action whatsoever. Desperate for information to provide to brigade, my platoon leader directed me to leave the OP and push forward to establish visual or audio contact with an infantry company rumored to be in the area.In that country (behind Eielson AFB if you want to google earth it...), in that situation, you don't see the enemy until you're nose to nose, unless he's on the road. Probing around blindly, looking for an infantry company (100+ men at full strength) in dense woods isn't exactly the smartest plan, or the most conducive to coming home.But, whaddya do? A scout risks his life for information. Them's the rules. Off we went.We bounded across the road one at a time, setting up security on the far side. When we were all across, we went prone and waited a few minutes to see if we could hear or see any sign that we had been compromised.We resumed movement, and continued on for several minutes before stopping again to listen. It was at this point that we first heard the sounds of a unit in the area. Small sounds, a voice here and there, the occasional weapon sound, a radio that was a bit too loud.With my radio on "whisper" mode, I called in a quick S.A.L.T. (size, activity, location, time) report, an abbreviated "SALUTE" report (Unit and Equipment being unknown). I gave our grid location, and the enemy's estimated location.Then I heard a noise; it was very close. Twenty feet? I couldn't see all that well (lying in the underbrush does that), and didn't dare move. I just heard one sound, a soft "weapon noise" (I don't know how else to describe it other than that...something bumped a gun and clinked), and with that, I froze. My two soldiers were facing in other directions; the threat was to my front. I was able to nudge one of them without too much movement, and I hoped he could let the other soldier know something was up.We waited what seemed like an eternity. Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? I don't know. We waited, hardly daring to breathe. Luckily my men had the presence of mind (that comes from training and working together often) to follow my example and remain still, even though they had no clue what had put me on alert.Slowly, I began to rise. First just off the ground; I waited. Then on my elbows and knees- another wait. Finally to my knees. Still, I heard and saw nothing at all. I began to rise to my feet.I was about two-thirds of the way up when I noticed the movement about twenty-thirty feet away. Another soldier ("OPFOR") was walking right towards me! We must have saw each other at the exact same time. We were close enough for me to pick out the three chevrons on his collar.Time crawled. Like synchronized automatons, we both spent about a split second being startled ('cuz Magpul tacticool-ness aside, real people in real life get startled...), and began the process -man, it seemed so slow- of raising our muzzles. If it had been "In real life", I doubt either of us would have walked away. We fired at exactly the same time, me three times, him twice, and both dove for cover."Contact!!" we both yelled -no kidding- in unison.My two guys started suppressing as I burned off my mag in "burst" at a nearly cyclic rate. Suppression.I hollered "Moving!" just as my was mag running out, and the next soldier started dumping his mag in the same way as I maneuvered to cover away from the contact. I reloaded as I ran (you do drill doing that, right? It's not easy...), and found a tree. The soldier who had been firing yelled "Moving!" and began his rearward bound as the last of our team began dumping his mag in a cyclic fashion. (This was an ugly and hasty "ranger peel", as we called it.)Things were going well, and it was soon my turn again to suppress and move. We were almost to the road, on the other side of which a steep and deep ravine waited. Lots of hiding places. Not that it would've done us any good, I soon was to learn. Opfor hadn't moved other than popping off a few shots, or so I thought. What was actually happening was that the Opfor squad was moving online, setting up a base of fire, and would soon be moving to flank and assault. I'd trained with the infantry enough to know what was about to go down.A full infantry squad against a three man team armed only with M4s? We were, how do I say it? Oh yeah. Screwed. When a scout has to use his weapon, he's screwed up, and will likely die.As if to confirm my fears, a SAW opened up on us, followed a few seconds later by an M240.What's a scout to do?I made a frantic call to the FSO, asking for (simulated, of course) a fire-for-effect mission on the road intersection we had been watching, that was only a hundred or so meters away.Then we popped smoke. We let it build, and basically, we ran. Tactically of course, bounding and keeping up some fire, but yeah, we pretty much ran like girls.The fire mission didn't come, one of my soldiers was "hit", and it was pretty much a bad day.Across the road we went, (moving laterally a bit after crossing to get "off the X") and pausing on the other side to lay some fire down when they tried to cross. Once the SAW moved up though (Machine Gunners make an unmistakable racket when running), we knew it was time to go.We kept this up for a bit, trying to get contact with the platoon and making an indirect route to the ORP, where the Platoon Sergeant and a full squad was (hopefully) moving to support us.We didn't make it though. The infantry NCOs following us knew their business, and it was just a matter of time before they hemmed us in and ended it. I don't know how many we "got", I just know that after we were "killed", everyone just sorta hung out and panted, smiling, because it was all a "game" (this time), and no one was screaming in pain, or suffering from an exploded cranium.The OPFOR NCO took my map (with the false graphics and locations I had marked on it...you didn't think I brought the real ones, did you?) and checked my radio (which had been "zeed" out -the encryption was erased- after my last call-for-fire transmission) for encryption. Seeing none, they took our full magazines, giving us empties.Consulting the map taken from me, they made a beeline for the false ORP I had marked on the map.Ha-ha. That way was through a swamp. Twenty minutes later, I heard the artillery simulators hit the intersection.Moral of the story?Sometimes you're just plain screwed. When you realize that you are indeed up the creek with no paddle, it's too late to feel sorry or get mad. You just have to act.Sometimes you're outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. That squad will set up a base of fire on you with the 240, it will maneuver on you, and they will keep you pinned as the assault element assaults right through you. All you can do is do your best.Make the other guy work hard to kill you, and take a few of them with you.We all die. Resolve to deserve it.Resist.
