![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
GWOT VI - Leadership
Feb. 1st, 2020 04:17 pmGWOT VI - Leadership
These were the moments in which the war in Iowa would be won.
I didn't know exactly how, or why. But I knew that.
So against my inclination, I did my best to dress sharp - as always since my cut rate manicure and dental work with Homeland, with the assistance of an orderly.
I liked to wear a glove over that left hand. I didn't like how it looked, and it liked to misbehave. But for this work it had to be on display.
I knew officers who liked to give speeches to large groups, to hundreds at a time. I'd tried it from time to time, and it had never worked for me - even with PA systems, staging and even video support.
So I'd deliberately set up our operational tempo to allow personnel to be rotated back to Camp Golf. We'd set it up as our rest and refit location. But I'd made it clear to everyone. Don't get comfy. We might have to roll at any moment.
Each evening, just before dinner, I'd asked that we rotate about fifty personnel - a large classroom's worth - into the reserved dining room of what had been the country club. Buffet dinner was served immediately after. But I needed people just a touch hungry and tired to hear what I had to say.
It would get a lot worse, a lot sooner than anyone thought.
I didn't use a podium, nor a hand held mike. I had a clip mike to a small PA, and all the speeches were recorded, audio and video. Our field video teams needed the practice, and every night I saved the E-mailed files to my phone, and the memory sticks I keep on my person. Evidence, for my court martial.
When everyone had arrived, and we closed the doors, I introduced myself. Thanked their officers, thanked them. Talked enough about their specific taskings to show that I was following what they were doing, whether it was fixing guns or hauling shells or purifying water or triaging injured refugees.
Then gave them the bad news.
"These are the front lines in the battle to defend California. This is the easy part. We fight here, in Iowa, so we don't have to fight in Reno or Las Vegas or Yuma. Or again in San Diego, Riverside and Sacramento.
"The world's eyes are on us. That's on purpose. We're here to show that if you fuck with California, you fuck with the baddest motherfuckers on the planet."
I gave some examples of why all California Republic troops had BAD MOTHERFUCKER written not only on their wallets, but tattooed on our very souls.
I adapted this part to my audience. I sometimes added a little Spanish. Other times I mentioned the San Jose Sharks or the (I don't care who bought them) Oakland Raiders.
I *never* mentioned San Francisco. We all knew.
"I have my orders, from the Governor of California. Pat is one scary person. And Pat made it really, really clear to me.
"We have to stop this genocide. We have to make this boulder roll uphill. We break the Churches.
"Or we don't bother coming back."
That generally shocked the handful of people who hadn't heard the rumors or figured it out. Everyone else wanted to hear me say it, though.
"Whatever else any of us do for California, we're soldiers first and foremost. There's a line. On the other side of that line are the people who have killed millions of our people, and would kill millions more. On this side of the line is everyone we've ever loved or cared about.
"WE ARE THAT LINE. We draw that line HERE. So we don't have to draw that line any closer to the people we are going to die to protect.
"Make your peace with death. If you need help with that, turn to each other. Turn to your officers, your chaplains and morale workers, even the unit psychologist…"
This part usually brought laughter. My disdain for the Psyche General's embedded psychs and 'morale workers' (read: camp followers) was legendary.
"… because death is scary. You've seen some. You're going to see a lot more. You're going to inflict some. When the time is right, we're going to give these Churches a taste of what they've been dishing out. And they're not going to like the flavor. California Style."
More ad lib, again based on my read of the crowd. The support troops needed a little hand holding through this part. The inevitability of death was not something their training focused on. The combat troops knew that part. What they wanted to know is if I had their backs. Sending them to die was totally OK, they wanted to know if I would use them like a cheap El Cajon hooker (sorry, ladies - I know you're a union shop now), or if their deaths would mean something.
"Every genocidaire you kill here, is one less to threaten California. But you also scare the daylights out of anyone else tempted to invade or bomb the Golden State. We are surrounded by enemies. China can't tell that we're not Americans. Mexico looks longingly north. Nevada thinks we're tasty. Arizona, who the hell knows what they think anymore. And then there's the Mormons. And Oregon. And the Army of Starbucks and Microsoft."
We'd really pissed off Seattle with the blockade. I could see their point. Threatening to starve people's kids is not all that cool. But we ended the China War, not that there's anything like gratitude between nations.
"We're surrounded by enemies. Our only friends are the French. Don't laugh. Most of you have trained with Legion troops at this point. They know how.
"Not far from here, as the crow flies, a small Legion force was jumped by a much larger Mexican force. You all know the story."
Camerone.
The survivors charged with fixed bayonets, against a force of ten thousand. All five of them.
"Almost two hundred years later, we still tell the story. That story helps keep France safe.
"It's our time. California's time. Your bravery and daring here, our Camerones and Alamos, are all that stands between California and destruction. War's desolation. Homeland camps. The Four Horsemen, pestilence and famine and war and death.
"What we do here will live forever. We all die. But how we die, and what we die for, that makes all the difference."
"Questions."
I drew them out. Of course they had questions. Some I couldn't answer. Operational security, and I told them so. But those I could, I did.
"Is it true that if we don't stop the genocide, we don't need to come back?"
"Yes."
"What about my family?"
When someone raised that one, I took note of the name. I'd be talking to their NCOs and officers. I'd been crystal clear from the beginning - get the life insurance paperwork and wills and end of life planning stuff DONE before we get on the fucking planes.
Then I took care of their problem.
"Why here? Why Iowa?"
"Because that's where the killing is. Because the Americans are fucking scared to have us any closer to Denver."
Because we're in striking range of Omaha, and our nuclear war plan is to drop everything here and take out SAC's headquarters quick and hard. With nerve gas. But I can't say that.
"Why the laws of war?"
"We can't kill them all even if they stand in front of us and let us. We'd run out of ammo."
General laughter. My obsession with bringing a lot of ammo, and stealing ammo whenever we could lay hands on it, was also well known.
But it wasn't funny. I'd run the numbers. By the end of this campaign, we'd be out of grenades and missiles for sure, and low on everything else.
Running out of rifle and machine gun ammo was a definite possibility I'd had to plan for.
"Also, how we win is as important as winning. Anyone ever notice that Homeland left as soon as we announced to the UN that we had nukes?"
If it hadn't come up, I explained briefly the doctrines of general deterrence and mutual assured destruction.
"We can make war as personal as a punch in the nose. This isn't just killing people, any rag tag half assed militia with a poor tattoo to cross ratio can do that. This is about the precision application of controlled violence."
Food being staged on the buffet tables was my signal that it was time to wrap up.
"After dinner, I'll be available to small groups to answer questions. Enjoy your food."
I ate with the men, didn't say much if anything, and felt the flavor of the room.
Afterwards, I was by a campfire, drinking weak iced tea (and having a good excuse to excuse myself to piss, and in one case order an arrest), and heard out any further concerns.
Then I could go back to my quarters, prop up my notebook, open my laptop and start furiously taking notes.
We didn't have time to make this the best fighting force California had ever seen.
So I had to make efficient use of the time I had.
The one sour note had been the need to keep kicking misguided morale workers out of my bed, put there with the cooperation of my orderlies.
The third night a delegation had come to ask what the problem was. The deployment chaplain, psychologist and surgeon. Three personnel, two of the three female.
My explanation was brief and pungent.
Fortunately for all of us, the surgeon had worked with me before. She explained in a more comprehensible if completely mendacious fashion.
And took the duty herself.
She knew I wouldn't bother her.
I knew she wouldn't unnecessarily wake me up, or offer anything that I had no interest in.
A nightly cuddle partner, and we could talk shop without any interference with each other's duties.
But damn if I was going to tell her to stop wearing panties.
We all make our sacrifices for the wars.
These were the moments in which the war in Iowa would be won.
I didn't know exactly how, or why. But I knew that.
So against my inclination, I did my best to dress sharp - as always since my cut rate manicure and dental work with Homeland, with the assistance of an orderly.
I liked to wear a glove over that left hand. I didn't like how it looked, and it liked to misbehave. But for this work it had to be on display.
I knew officers who liked to give speeches to large groups, to hundreds at a time. I'd tried it from time to time, and it had never worked for me - even with PA systems, staging and even video support.
So I'd deliberately set up our operational tempo to allow personnel to be rotated back to Camp Golf. We'd set it up as our rest and refit location. But I'd made it clear to everyone. Don't get comfy. We might have to roll at any moment.
Each evening, just before dinner, I'd asked that we rotate about fifty personnel - a large classroom's worth - into the reserved dining room of what had been the country club. Buffet dinner was served immediately after. But I needed people just a touch hungry and tired to hear what I had to say.
It would get a lot worse, a lot sooner than anyone thought.
I didn't use a podium, nor a hand held mike. I had a clip mike to a small PA, and all the speeches were recorded, audio and video. Our field video teams needed the practice, and every night I saved the E-mailed files to my phone, and the memory sticks I keep on my person. Evidence, for my court martial.
When everyone had arrived, and we closed the doors, I introduced myself. Thanked their officers, thanked them. Talked enough about their specific taskings to show that I was following what they were doing, whether it was fixing guns or hauling shells or purifying water or triaging injured refugees.
Then gave them the bad news.
"These are the front lines in the battle to defend California. This is the easy part. We fight here, in Iowa, so we don't have to fight in Reno or Las Vegas or Yuma. Or again in San Diego, Riverside and Sacramento.
"The world's eyes are on us. That's on purpose. We're here to show that if you fuck with California, you fuck with the baddest motherfuckers on the planet."
I gave some examples of why all California Republic troops had BAD MOTHERFUCKER written not only on their wallets, but tattooed on our very souls.
I adapted this part to my audience. I sometimes added a little Spanish. Other times I mentioned the San Jose Sharks or the (I don't care who bought them) Oakland Raiders.
I *never* mentioned San Francisco. We all knew.
"I have my orders, from the Governor of California. Pat is one scary person. And Pat made it really, really clear to me.
"We have to stop this genocide. We have to make this boulder roll uphill. We break the Churches.
"Or we don't bother coming back."
That generally shocked the handful of people who hadn't heard the rumors or figured it out. Everyone else wanted to hear me say it, though.
"Whatever else any of us do for California, we're soldiers first and foremost. There's a line. On the other side of that line are the people who have killed millions of our people, and would kill millions more. On this side of the line is everyone we've ever loved or cared about.
"WE ARE THAT LINE. We draw that line HERE. So we don't have to draw that line any closer to the people we are going to die to protect.
"Make your peace with death. If you need help with that, turn to each other. Turn to your officers, your chaplains and morale workers, even the unit psychologist…"
This part usually brought laughter. My disdain for the Psyche General's embedded psychs and 'morale workers' (read: camp followers) was legendary.
"… because death is scary. You've seen some. You're going to see a lot more. You're going to inflict some. When the time is right, we're going to give these Churches a taste of what they've been dishing out. And they're not going to like the flavor. California Style."
More ad lib, again based on my read of the crowd. The support troops needed a little hand holding through this part. The inevitability of death was not something their training focused on. The combat troops knew that part. What they wanted to know is if I had their backs. Sending them to die was totally OK, they wanted to know if I would use them like a cheap El Cajon hooker (sorry, ladies - I know you're a union shop now), or if their deaths would mean something.
"Every genocidaire you kill here, is one less to threaten California. But you also scare the daylights out of anyone else tempted to invade or bomb the Golden State. We are surrounded by enemies. China can't tell that we're not Americans. Mexico looks longingly north. Nevada thinks we're tasty. Arizona, who the hell knows what they think anymore. And then there's the Mormons. And Oregon. And the Army of Starbucks and Microsoft."
We'd really pissed off Seattle with the blockade. I could see their point. Threatening to starve people's kids is not all that cool. But we ended the China War, not that there's anything like gratitude between nations.
"We're surrounded by enemies. Our only friends are the French. Don't laugh. Most of you have trained with Legion troops at this point. They know how.
"Not far from here, as the crow flies, a small Legion force was jumped by a much larger Mexican force. You all know the story."
Camerone.
The survivors charged with fixed bayonets, against a force of ten thousand. All five of them.
"Almost two hundred years later, we still tell the story. That story helps keep France safe.
"It's our time. California's time. Your bravery and daring here, our Camerones and Alamos, are all that stands between California and destruction. War's desolation. Homeland camps. The Four Horsemen, pestilence and famine and war and death.
"What we do here will live forever. We all die. But how we die, and what we die for, that makes all the difference."
"Questions."
I drew them out. Of course they had questions. Some I couldn't answer. Operational security, and I told them so. But those I could, I did.
"Is it true that if we don't stop the genocide, we don't need to come back?"
"Yes."
"What about my family?"
When someone raised that one, I took note of the name. I'd be talking to their NCOs and officers. I'd been crystal clear from the beginning - get the life insurance paperwork and wills and end of life planning stuff DONE before we get on the fucking planes.
Then I took care of their problem.
"Why here? Why Iowa?"
"Because that's where the killing is. Because the Americans are fucking scared to have us any closer to Denver."
Because we're in striking range of Omaha, and our nuclear war plan is to drop everything here and take out SAC's headquarters quick and hard. With nerve gas. But I can't say that.
"Why the laws of war?"
"We can't kill them all even if they stand in front of us and let us. We'd run out of ammo."
General laughter. My obsession with bringing a lot of ammo, and stealing ammo whenever we could lay hands on it, was also well known.
But it wasn't funny. I'd run the numbers. By the end of this campaign, we'd be out of grenades and missiles for sure, and low on everything else.
Running out of rifle and machine gun ammo was a definite possibility I'd had to plan for.
"Also, how we win is as important as winning. Anyone ever notice that Homeland left as soon as we announced to the UN that we had nukes?"
If it hadn't come up, I explained briefly the doctrines of general deterrence and mutual assured destruction.
"We can make war as personal as a punch in the nose. This isn't just killing people, any rag tag half assed militia with a poor tattoo to cross ratio can do that. This is about the precision application of controlled violence."
Food being staged on the buffet tables was my signal that it was time to wrap up.
"After dinner, I'll be available to small groups to answer questions. Enjoy your food."
I ate with the men, didn't say much if anything, and felt the flavor of the room.
Afterwards, I was by a campfire, drinking weak iced tea (and having a good excuse to excuse myself to piss, and in one case order an arrest), and heard out any further concerns.
Then I could go back to my quarters, prop up my notebook, open my laptop and start furiously taking notes.
We didn't have time to make this the best fighting force California had ever seen.
So I had to make efficient use of the time I had.
The one sour note had been the need to keep kicking misguided morale workers out of my bed, put there with the cooperation of my orderlies.
The third night a delegation had come to ask what the problem was. The deployment chaplain, psychologist and surgeon. Three personnel, two of the three female.
My explanation was brief and pungent.
Fortunately for all of us, the surgeon had worked with me before. She explained in a more comprehensible if completely mendacious fashion.
And took the duty herself.
She knew I wouldn't bother her.
I knew she wouldn't unnecessarily wake me up, or offer anything that I had no interest in.
A nightly cuddle partner, and we could talk shop without any interference with each other's duties.
But damn if I was going to tell her to stop wearing panties.
We all make our sacrifices for the wars.
