The Fog of War

APRIL 25TH, 2009
1ST US INFANTRY CAMP, PALACIOS
11:00 AM

The clam that nearly ended Jenkins' life made for good eating. The lion's share of the meat found its way into the hands of Lieutenant Ackt, who of course. He created Palacio Libre stew, made up of clam, starfish, sea urchins, sea water, seaweed, and gator meat, which killed at least one man, Private Redshirt. But the rest of the soldiers had fun enough devouring the clam in their one way, straight or in a variety of specially-made chowder. They were still eating it for the better part of two days.

Among those begging for food was a small band of Palacian insurrectos. There were about thirty of them, wearing dissheveled clothing, looking dirty and exhausted from weeks - months - in the bush. At their head was Lieutenant Emma, who looked exhausted and bewildered from her weeks of leadership.

General Ale rode up to the gang of insurrectos. "Palacios Libre!" he hailed them. The insurrectos didn't respond. "Can you tell me where I can find some Russkies?"

"You want to see some Russians, you say?" Lieutenant Emma replied. "I'm Lieutenant Emma."

"You're an American?" Ale asked incredulously.

"Soldier of fortune," she replied.

"Soldier of fortune, hell, you're a Democrat!"

Emma smiled. "My men need food and clothing. They've been hiding for weeks. You give us something to eat and I'll give you information."

Ale looked around at his staff, then saw Lieutenant Ackt trying to persuade Ulysess Bunsher and Mike Prankster to eat his Palacios Stew. "See that man over there," he said, pointing to the chef. "He'll fix you up with something." The grateful insurrectos rushed over the Lieutenant, unaware of the noxious gastronomical atrocities that awaited them.

As this discussion went on, a freshly-landed journalist wandered into the camp, carrying a small suitcase in one arm and a laptop in the other. He approached a Sergeant and asked which regiment's camp it was.

Jim Tate, who had witnessed Groggy's extraordinary Florida coup de main, had requested assignment with the ballsy Colonel and his mad-cap regiment from his boss, Mr. Llewelyn, and now he had it. He was prepared to write the story of a lifetime, taking photos with his iPhone, blogging and twittering from the front lines, living the glorious life of an old-time war correspondant.

He surveyed the scene around him, finding the men remarkably relaxed, if somewhat anxious. Seated outside a tent were some of the college kids, Sergeant Falk and Kyle and Susie; the rest were. With them was now-Sergeant Beck; Angel, who struggled with her hair in the humid heat; and the Byronic Tom Weissler, alias "Teacher Tom", a hard-drinking, idealistic man in his mid-forties, whose romanticism and eloquence superceded his sensibility.

Tate smiled at this, the flower of the American intellect and idealists gathered for the cause of liberation, but was equally amused by the hardscrabble collection of gutter trash. He saw C.D., waving a machette, squaring off against the knife-wielding troublemaker Nirvana, in a manly test of strength. He saw Chill Scotsdale, chewing on a piece of clam off the blade of his knife. He saw Captain Nicholas Slick, a dodgy fellow from Connecticut, arguing with a Corporal Bill about the Kennedy Assassination and the merits of various fire arms. He saw Matt and Elizabeth, , sharing a tender moment alone under a small tree. And then he saw Sergeant Adnan leaning against a tree, staring rigidly at the collection of college kids and assorted others.

"Excuse me, Sergeant. Where can I find Colonel Dundee?" the reporter asked the Canadian.

After a pause, Adnan slowly turned to face the journalist. "Officers' meeting," he drawed. He then walked off, his eyes still focusing on the group of college kids. Tate looked after him with concern. He eagerly went around, interviewing grunts and the occasional company commander, but never came across the Colonel. He went to bed in a sleeping bag on the edge of camp.

APRIL 26TH, 2009
10:00 AM

General Jenkins sit in the officer's tent, speaking with Colonel Groggy and his staff. This was for Groggy's eyes and ears only; not even Jenkins' brigadiers were present.

He had overhead the other divisional commanders discussing strategy earlier. General Ramsay, the commander of the first division, had said to one of his brigade commanders that Jenkins' men were being kept in reserve as they were useless, while the infantry probed ahead through El Grapadura pass. He and his men were going to remain on the beachhead until the way had been cleared. At hearing this, Jenkins undertook his own initiative, and thus set the first major battle of the Palacian Campaign into action.

Jenkins gave Groggy and his officers a rough idea of the terrain and the reasons for their advance.

"Now, we don't know for sure whether or not the Russians have fortified this area." For once, Jenkins was not deliberately deceiving the Colonel; the heavy tree cover had made it impossible to do a proper aerial reconassiance, and no American ground troops had moved into the area yet. "This is your goal, Colonel - reconassiance in force, if there's anyone in your way. Just be careful."

"My men will not fail you, sir," Groggy replied, saluting. Jenkins and Captain O'Brien then departed the tent, leaving Groggy and his staff behind.

Jenkins stared at Groggy's men, still lounging and assing around like campers on a picnic. Captain O'Brien spoke up. "It feels bad. Think of many of these boys and girls have to die for..." He stopped himself, looking at his commander.

Jenkins didn't reply. He walked out of the camp, limping slightly on his right leg, still sore from his clamming. He understood his subordinates feelings, but it didn't matter. He would set his plan into the motion on the morrow, or sooner if possible.

APRIL 26TH, 2009
10:00 PM

If General Jenkins had taken the initiative on his own, Groggy did him one better. After another day of doing virtually nothing but get mosquito-bitten, Groggy decided to move. He got tacit approval from General Ale, claiming he was merely doing a reconassiance sweep; Ale only belatedly told General Jenkins, but it little matered.

Captain Holland and B Company led the advance, followed by the tough German Captain Siegel and G Company. The rest of the command snaked out of the camp on foot, slipping almost-silently into the bush. For the moment, only Captain Shaffer's K Company and the medical staff led by Lt. Jana Gladstone were being left behind, along with a few drunken Palacians.

Tate watched the command snaking out of camp. As they left, he turned and saw a middle-aged, balding man sitting on the edge of the camp, typing into a laptop with a wifi connection, some drunken Palacians standing around him.

"Hello!" Tate said, trying to break the ice. "You a reporter?"

"Of a sort," the man replied quietly.

"I'm Jim Tate of the New York Spin," Tate said, extending his hand.

"Oh." A disgusted look crept over the older man's face, and he didn't return the shake. "Eric Glenn, of the Left-Wing Rant."

"The, uh, weblog?" Tate said. Glenn merely nodded, focused on his work.

"I think Colonel Dundee has exceeded his authority, Eric," Tate said.

"Probably," Glenn replied stoically, still typing. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Tate, sensing an unfriendly tension between them, started to follow the soldiers out of camp. "Aren't you coming?" he asked Glenn.

"Nah, I'll read about it in the paper tomorrow," he said, still not looking at the reporter. Tate, unsure of what to make of the man, began following the soldiers out of camp.

Glenn leered at the pretty Palacian senioritas around him, but they hurried away. He sighed, took a swig of gin, and got back to work.

* * *

Groggy was at the head of the regiment. His thoughts were buzzing, a mixture of excitement, anticipation, and dread. He didn't know what the next day would bring, but some internal instinct told him that he could anticipate something spectacular. The quetsions of what would happen, how he would fare, how his command would fare - all were unanswerable. But at least the answer to these questions was coming in the immediate future.

He fingered a .38 caliber revolver, which had been given to him by Whalestoe earlier that day. Whalestoe said he'd recovered it from the body of Lieutenant Renard, Jenkins' pilot who had been killed by the RPG attack. Dundee didn't know why Whalestoe had given it to him of all people, but as he loved the revolver mechanism and never was able to adjust to automatic pistols, he was determined to use it, and to avenge its former owner ten times over.

Some of the men began singing a chorus of Single Ladies, which greatly amused the Colonel, though it irritated many others. The calls of "If you like it, then you should have put a ring on it!" echoed thorugh the night-time forrest. It reminded the Colonel of his first expedition and their departure from Fort Benlin. Groggy, for his part, started humming The Battle Cry of Freedom, under his breath at first, but eventually he burst out into loud song, much to the consternation of Captain Harriman and Colonel Starbuck.