Fort Bragg
After the last days of forced marches, the 'survivors' were now running.
Despite the fact that they were all highly trained recruits, the last days made every one of them weaker, and every single effort was turning into pain.
As the minutes of run went on, the recruits felt like they had less oxygen inside their brains. Time dilated and never really moved on, the distances became confused, the recruits' vision blurred.
Many had their throats burning after the first hour, and that was normal. They had spent too many days working as slaves, eating too little and too fast, sleeping very little or not at all.
Half way though the second hour of the run, none of the recruits could say how much longer it was going to last.
Their lungs were now burning, their throats stinging, their legs hard, as if attached to heavy weights.
They were almost at the third hour of continuous running.
Many were coughing and with a taste of blood in their mouths.
To Danforth and Krakauer in particular, every single step was pain.
As well as the fatigue, they had to stand the pain coming from all of the blows received during the 'Valley of Sounds' descent of the day before.
Their run was asymmetrical and disheveled, irregular, because their bodies were full of bruises.
Despite the fact that they were both ten years older, Trautman and Garner were running with them too, and had been from the very start.
To the incredulous eyes of those young men, the two 'elders' didn't show any sign of fatigue.
To them, the fact that a thirty-year old man could run so long looked like some kind of miracle.
It looked like a collective hallucination.
The legend that the 'beast' Trautman used to work out together with the recruits was true.
But the most impressive thing was the fact that Trautman was capable of running and had the lungs to talk too while doing it.
Despite his ten years of age more than anyone else, he was better than any of them, at least while running.
But in that moment, Trautman's 'beast' speeches were only annoying them.
They surely distracted them from the pain of the moment, but being forced to hear all of those speeches during such a so painful exercise was so wearing to erase any possible interest for what the colonel had to say.
The pain erased everything and Trautman knew that simple truth all too well, but he only wanted recruits that were capable of paying attention to him despite such pain, and by this time everybody had understood that.
And that was the reason he continued talking and they continued listening to him: because they hadn't any other choice.
“You must respect your enemies. Respect and fear them, that's what you have to do.
Soldiers can think they are immortal if they want. They even must do it, sometimes, in order to keep their morale high.
But this kind of delirium – because when someone believes in something that doesn't exist, he is delirious –... You simply can't afford it. The kinds of risks this unit runs are too high for the usual macho-man kind of guy that thinks he is immortal.
Many are charmed by this kind of people.
Soldiers enjoy staying close to someone who feels he's immortal because he boosts their morale. But you simply can't afford that kind of luxury.
The Special Forces' life is far more cruel than a conventional soldier's. And amongst the prices to pay, there's the fact that you will always know your risks for real.
And this means being scared to hell and yet hanging on anyway.
You will have to get a thorough knowledge of them, and yet have the inner strength necessary not to stop.
In other words, being brave doesn't mean having no fear: it means feeling it, but throwing it deep inside your guts, in a faraway corner inside your mind, and continuing doing your duty anyway.
Heroes aren't born, but become.
And if you'll hear me I will explain how.
Those of you that can push the fear down into their minds one, two, three times... Sooner or later, they will succeed in exchanging it for something else.
One day, you will get to the point that you will be scared without feeling any fear at all.
You will push yourselves to the point that fear will leave its place to rage.
Because soldiers are scared by death, heroes don't want to die”
A young man amongst the recruits puked while running.
Trautman looked to him for a while.
The young didn't stop his run, nor slowed down: he puked on himself getting his suit dirty, but didn't stop his run at all.
Trautman took note of his name inside his mind: Messner.
He memorized two different things: the first – puking - was a sign of physical weakness, the other – not even slowing down – was a sign of mental strength.
If he passed the physical tests, he would surely become a fine soldier.
Then the colonel turned his head away from him, and went on talking.
“Remember: Soldiers are scared by death, heroes don't want to die”
Messner wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then shook his head.
Trautman noticed a couple of recruits helping each other. They were running as if they had been beaten by someone.
“What's this guy's name?” Trautman asked.
“Krakauer” replied Garner.
“Lawrence Krakauer”
“And the one yelling right next to him, he is 'our' Danforth”
“Yes. I suppose he is trying to boost his morale up”
“So it seems. See how close he stays to him?”
Trautman went on looking at them: the two were almost running shoulder to shoulder.
-
“Breathe” Danforth was saying to Krakauer.
“Breathe... Don't give in, Krack. You are doin' it. I say you are doin' it!”
Without even realizing it, Danforth was now yelling to his mate.
He turned then to his side – to avoid being seen in trouble by him – and he too spat a big clot of blood.
-
Trautman liked that scene. He carefully noted everything inside his mind then went on talking.
“Many of you are now tasting blood in your mouths and are holding on because they think that they are the best. Maybe they think so because they have already been in Vietnam and have already fought, or because they come from the navy instead of the army, or simply because they are Americans, while the enemy is not... But this is wrong.
All of these arguments are wrong.
Every single Vietcong that you are going to face is at exactly the same level as a US special forces soldier.
And you little shits are not special forces yet, and neither are you men that can say you are better than one Vietcong. You are not even half of a Vietcong. And it's up to me to make you become like them”
There were some mutters. Even Garner himself turned to Trautman with his eyes full of hate.
If the colonel's wish was to be hated, he was getting it for sure and much more than he thought.
“You think you are suffering here, but the enemy you are going to face in Vietnam march with fifty five pounds of gear fifteen hours a day, and he can do it for months. He often doesn't even have a backpack and he pushes it on a bike. He survives on a bowl of rice each a day and without even getting thinner.
But we, on the thanks-giving day, we parachute turkeys to our troops.
We need disposable razor blades, soap, clean clothes... And all of this is wrong.
They make their own sandals using old tires, we need shaving cream.
They can live days with a single bowl of rice, if necessary, because they pick up or hunt the necessary in the jungle.
And when they are out of ammo, they start building traps using what they find on the ground”
The recruits now felt insulted, humiliated and that was exactly Trautman's wish from the beginning. He wanted to see if they were capable of withstanding this kind of burden too, together with fatigue.
But without even realizing it, Trautman reinvigorated them.
Because those kind of insults to their pride, in the middle of all of that suffering became rage, plain and simple.
Some of them spat on the ground with disgust, and Trautman saw their exhausted faces suddenly becoming full of hate.
Those guys were now blood thirsty.
For a little while the colonel felt disorientated, then he realized what had just happened and he let himself have a little smile.
He didn't care about how many he was going to reject: in that moment he was proud of all of them.
“In this way, the Vietcong survives with or without food and fights with or without weapons... And this is much more than what our soldiers are capable of. And most of all, he can do it because that is his nature. The Vietcong lives in a third world country that has been a state of war for twenty years. Over there, anyone who is not good enough to find a way to make a living doesn't sleep under a bridge or eat at canteens for the homeless. Over there, anyone who can't make a living just dies, plain and simple. In Vietnam, there are no obese twenty-year old with a beer belly. You will never see 'em anywhere, not even amongst the rich. The Vietnamese are ultra-tough people and this is the kind of enemy we are facing, and if you think that we are going to win just because we come from a better country than theirs, you are really wrong.
In fact it's quite the contrary: the worse the regime and poverty, the more cruel and capable its fighters.
You will have to earn your victory.
And you will earn it sweating, suffering and even dying for it, if necessary. Yes... At least some of you”
Trautman lowered his eyes and suddenly looked like he had shut himself down. The beast had just lost the light in his eyes.
But it lasted just for a while.
And when the colonel raised his head again, he looked like he had just woken from some kind of dream.
He said:
“The more a country is uncivilized, the harder the natural selection amongst its people and the stronger its army. It's a law of nature.
Because the soldier that has already experienced for himself the meaning of the word 'survive', has something more inside himself than the others.
We - in United States – lost that kind of art many years ago, and you are here now to learn again what it means to live like an animal. It's already inside of you, it only has to find its way back to the surface. I will explain how.
So remember: every fucking Vietcong is not worth a normal soldier. Every fucking Vietcong is worth a damn Green Beret”
As he was saying that last sentence, Trautman was almost hissing between his teeth without realizing it.
That was a lesson he had learnt at a very high price, so he said those last words to himself more than to any of the recruits.