"...Went to Grenada". Part 1, The Terrain Model,

Through the wonders of the internet and thanks to Facebook, I have been able to reconnect with  a great many people seemingly lost forever from early in my military career      It is not only gratifying to rediscover old friends but also humbling to realize that they hadn't forgotten me either. 

My comrades from my (second) time in the 82d Airborne Division are especially precious to me in that I left "The Deuce" under less than auspicious circumstances. You see, I was kicked out of the war after my short foray on the island of Grenada. 

Since many of my old friends were younger enlisted soldiers at the time, they didn't necessarily know what precipitated my speedy departure from Task Force 2/505. I must say that the rumors are far more interesting than what really happened! Nevertheless, I had been mulling the idea to write down my exploits while assigned to Cold Steel Bravo, encouraged by some of those paratroopers I left so long ago. 

With this narrative I will tell once and for all the real story of my exodus to the promised land of Special Forces.

Author's note: Names, dates and places are as accurate as my 54 year old brain can remember. If I am incorrect in my facts, please let me know so I can correct them. Here we go sports fans...

Let me tell you of the days of high adventure...

 Once when I was a squad leader we had had a battalion ARTEP (Army Readiness Testing Program), which required us to enter the D-LAAC (sorry, I don't remember what it stands for). A group of WWII era barracks large enough to house 1,000+ soldiers, it was surrounded by chain link fence topped with razor wire. A secure area, units would enter to focus on mission planning. I would stay in these barracks once more  before I left Division - prior to deploying to Grenada. In later years I would refer to this sort of planning as isolation, when a unit would enter a secure area and focus on little more than the mission and their preparation. 

Each of the squads was given a FRAGO (Fragmentary Order) followed later by an OPORD (Operations Order) and one of the tasks required was to construct a to-scale representation of the route of advance and actions on the objective.

Also known as a terrain model, the more accurately it represents the Area of Operation and Responsibility (AOR) the better for mission planning – and it looks good to the evaluator grading to your operations order. I had prepared for this inevitability by assembling a terrain model kit that had all the stuff to make the terrain model look better: Colored chalk to grind up into a powder to define map features, colored string to identify routes of advance and invariably as most former squad leaders know, the packets of creamer from C-rations or MREs. I set my guys to work on the model and went about my other tasks for mission planning.

Some time later the guys had completed the model and to say it looked great really is an understatement.  It was AWESOME! We got the call for lunch and lined up to move to the mess hall. I decided that since we were in a secure area with roving guards that the whole squad would go to chow, eat and then get ready for our operations order – big mistake on my part. We came back about 20 minutes later and the terrain model that my guys had worked so hard on to get darn near perfect was no more than a swirl of dirt, brightly colored yarn, ground chalk, mixed with coffee creamer and other tricks of the trade. I was dumbfounded. The index cards that acted as a legend to our map were crumpled and shredded among the aftermath of an unknown jungle-booted maelstrom. 

Fuming and about ready to explode, I instructed the guys to put the terrain model back together as best they could and then I started to go to the platoon sergeant to let him know that my squad’s operations order had been sabotaged and that we would need a little more time to get ready to present our plan. More than anything else I was angry at myself for trusting in the belief that no one would mess with our model. The thought that my guys' efforts had been wasted also weighed heavily on my mind - I should have known better.

On the way, Corporal Fitzgerald, motioned me over, leaned in and advised me that he had been the one to eradicate my squad’s efforts.Also known as “Beaker,” due to his uncanny resemblance to a Muppet of that name, he pointed skyward and simply said, “Satellites Sergeant Woods.” I should get credit here for the fact that I didn’t beat him within an inch of his life. I restrained myself and continued on preparing for a briefing with a terrain model that sucked the big one, but lesson learned. This event would remain burned into my brain and I would exact my vengeance from Beaker in the future.

Ultimately we conducted our ARTEP and returned to garrison to clean up and ready for the next call out.