ARMY

It is hot and humid, even in the shade of the pine trees. The Joint Readiness Training Center at Fort Polk, Louisiana, is on the same terrain used to train American soldiers for and since World War II. Indeed, except for--and despite--the advanced technology in the details, much of what I am about to witness could have been very much the same. Such is war--or the preparation for war.

Public Affairs Officer, Major Jim Beinkemper, is my guide and shadow on base. After lunch, we load up a humvee and head out about 30 miles into the rolling hills and piney woods of western Louisiana to where war games are being conducted. I am in search of photographic images that will communicate what Fort Polk's Joint Readiness Training Center is all about. The JRTC conducts war games for the U.S. military branches to train them to work together under simulated combat conditions.
The games consist of two weeks of an American force arriving at a large "island" and attempting to defend a small third world country from its aggressor neighbor. The friendly country is named Cortina. All along the long road to the war game area are signs reading

"Keep Cortina Green"--an attempt to get everyone's head into the game. Ha. The aggressor nation is named Atlantico, but Army lingo mostly uses the term OPFOR, or opposing force. It is a warm and humid early summer afternoon when we finally arrive at our objective: a company of soldiers completing preparations for defending a position. The current rotation of JRTC soldiers is from Hawaii, of all places.
The defensive position is situated atop a rise in the forest around which a stream curves. The rise is clear of brush, but down below, the much thicker bushes and hardwood trees hide the stream from view. The company's task is to stop potential enemy movement across the stream's nearby ford. An Army backhoe vehicle is finishing up the digging of a series of bunkers. Men with green-painted faces place plywood boards on top of the freshly dug bunkers with several layers of bags of dirt and make other preparations for the evening. But the general mood of the approximately 80 soldiers is relaxed. They have been in the field for about ten days and look pretty bedraggled--but still professional. They know there will soon be some sort of action, but they do not know how much.

We move our hummer down a dusty road a few hundred yards to the rear, park the hummer and set up our own "camp," which consists of, well, our parked hummer. In the shade of an oak tree, our task is to defend exposed American skin against the aggressor horseflies. Luckily,

mosquitoes are engaged elsewhere.
     Each referee of the game is called an observer/coordinator or OC. We are told by the head OC that a defensive gap has been left next to our company. Later, this seems to be confirmed by the stealthy presence of an enemy two-man reconnaissance patrol skulking through the trees between us and the rear of the American position.
     The enemy will win this battle. They are the experience, attacking the new guys rotated in to give them feel of combat. Fort Polk is the home of the OPFOR. Their job is to attack the American forces once a month. But every rotation is different and both sides can make choices while reacting to movement of the other, so no one really knows EXACTLY what is going to happen. In the upcoming repeated scenario, the enemy almost always overruns the American position. This knowledge gives me a strange sense of power.
     At 7:00 p.m., Jim pulls out dinner which is a pile of dark brown plastic of MREs ("meal-ready-to-eat") with the contents of each printed in black ink. I select one containing ham, crackers and jelly, potatoes au gratin and a brownie. We eat our meals cold and talk about military subjects and world affairs. Jim saw duty in Somalia and has many stories to tell.
     After dinner, a couple of gigantic and menacing, but "friendly," M-1 tanks growl
dustily into camp and then growl out again. Later, a "fire control" official on a dark green Honda 4-wheeler putters by, dismounts and "delivers" an artillery barrage. He knows exactly where he is with the help of a very small GPD, geographical positioning device using satellite navigation technology.

The barrage consists of a number of fused explosives which scream loudly and then explode, thus simulating falling shells. The explosions seem to me quite realistic. Jim tells me the real things go more KA-WHUMP! than BOOM! and, of course, the ground shakes more.

If any soldiers are relatively near the explosions, the OC declares them to be casualties. Stretcher-bearers appear and haul the casualties off. Evacuations are taken as seriously as anything else. A couple hummer ambulances arrive and speed the wounded off to a simulated field hospital somewhere.
All weapons--mostly M-16s--have sound activated lasers in small boxes mounted on top of the end of each barrel. Each blank cartridge sound-activates a laser beam, not a bullet. The soldiers have sensors on their torso harness and their helmet. When an invisible laser beam touches a

sensor, a high-pitched squeal emanates from the harness, at which point the soldier turns off the signal and opens his "casualty card" to see how badly he has been wounded. The wounds run the gamut, an example being an ankle wound, which, if not treated properly within 20

minutes, will kill the soldier from loss of blood. The card also instructs its carrier to immediately lie down and wait for assistance.
At dark, Jim pulls out state-of-the-art light-intensifying night-vision goggles. After searching the woods for soldiers, I end up simply gazing at the clear night sky. Where once were the Big Dipper amid the impressive rural night sky star field, now is a greenish solid wall of stars. Green meteorites, which might have been missed using only the naked eye, now seem to scream across the sky. Finally we prep our "beds" and turn in. My bed is inside down the middle of the hummer and Jim's is outside on the 6-foot-wide flat hood.

But there is very little sleep that night. The thin matt I am on quickly dissipates into the hard steel of the hummer and the seemingly middle-of-nowhere quiet is regularly interrupted by helicopters howling overhead, a tracked vehicle rumbling close by, a couple of artillery barrages, one nearby exchange of automatic M-16 and machine gun fire and lots of far-off various and sundry booms, pops and roars.

     Up at 4 a.m. We wait and talk until 5:00 when the first hints of daylight begin to struggle through the trees. Jim "freshens up" the green paint on his face and we head down the road quietly on foot to where the battle is to be fought. While walking down the road, another surreal artillery barrage begins in the woods to our left. Here I am walking comfortably through the dark woods which are being lit up with a dozen bright flashes like ground-level strobes followed by thunderous explosions while being told to keep very quiet. I am wide awake and almost lighthearted from the experience. It is not often one gets the opportunity to witness war with no danger.
     This is VERY different from the Civil War battle reenactments I have photographed which are put on in broad daylight in open fields for crowds of onlookers. Here, Jim and I and the small handful of OC's are the only spectators. And not only are the Civil War reenactors not professional soldiers being trained for a very serious job, but they are fighting a battle long past and not preparing for a future battle.
     When we get to the clearing where the soldiers are dug in, we pause. The bombardment has ended and the place is dimly lit with the colorless light of a newborn overcast morning. The position appears totally deserted as almost all evidence of humans is hidden below ground or well-camouflaged. Birds are starting to sing.
     Part of me wants to crouch and hide to watch what is about to happen, but we continue to walk upright through the position. My mind tells me almost a hundred anxious young men surround me, but my eyes cannot see them. For the time being, everyone--even the poised enemy awaiting daylight--is silent and invisible. And yet, the assured knowledge of what is to come reveals their presence intensely. Very, very eerie!

But I want my camera in the middle of the upcoming action and so we keep going. The fire control vehicle appears promising to break the spell. The expected explosions are delivered on the edge of the perimeter. Men with stretchers appear out of nowhere to haul away the now visible "dead" and "wounded."

     Twice, soldiers hustle up to us to tensely yet politely question in a whisper if I, in my jeans and photo-vest, am a "player."
     "No," Jim curtly replies both times. "He's with me."
     We, and the OC's, are "not here."
     Just as the stretchers are secured away, the attack begins. We see the first enemy soldiers moving out of the thick woods, darting this way and that behind trees at the bottom of the hill. The M-16s at our feet and nearby begin popping irregularly. Louder, more powerful, machine-guns splutter yellow fire from inside bunkers and back toward us from out of the woods. I am sorry I am not able to see the laser beams which are surely criss-crossing the large clearing. In a real battle, the lasers would be very visible tracer rounds and probably much more scary. Certainly more lethal.

     Now, there is no need for secrecy or silence and the soldiers call out orders and answers from their holes. American soldiers scurry here and there to get into better positions, but always staying low and behind cover.
    "We need reinforcements!" a soldier calls hoarsely.
     Soon I notice soldiers climbing out of their foxholes and bunkers removing their helmets signifying their casualty status. They want at the very least to sit and enjoy the show. Being dead or seriously wounded does have its privileges.
     "We got an urgent bleeder down here!" But in the heat of battle, no stretcher-bearers appear.

     Jim and I hunker down behind a tree. I do not want to be responsible for distracting a soldier and maybe getting him zapped with a laser beam. I wonder if I am being hit at all in all the shooting. Probably.
     "Breach!"
     A booby trap smoke canister billows a purple cloud near the edge of the woods indicating the enemy is moving ever closer, methodically eliminating resistance in the exterior foxholes and bunkers. The purple haze hovering over the scene somehow seems appropriate. Laser-triggered sensors squeal briefly right and left. More and more soldiers climb out of their bunkers with their helmets removed.
     "There's no one alive in front of me!" a soldier near the top of the rise cries to his platoon leader, who may or may not be alive to respond.

Other smoke canisters fizzle loudly emitting dense purple, red and white clouds. Some have been tripped, some thrown. The defense becomes confused. The American soldiers wonder aloud if they are surrounded. They are not. Resistance becomes spotty and the enemy more brazen. A smoke canister is thrown next to the bunker beside where we were squatting and we watch

an enemy soldier use the thick smoke for visual cover to run up and blast the sensor of the last resolute Americans in our immediate area. It has become a battle between the enemy and a dwindling number of American survivors.
     Finally, the American resistance ends completely and dozens of enemy soldiers move out of cover and through the position. It does not seem like their casualties are very high. Out of the bushes rumble a line of tanks, not M-1s, but certainly big enough to impress. The lead tank stops to aim and sets off a resounding blank charge. I don't know if he is aiming to eliminate a retreating soldier or possibly the hummer in which he might be attempting to escape. It is hard to tell at this point as events are happening quickly.
     The enemy's mood is clearly one of cheerful victory, and yet they remain carefully professional as they move quickly through the position following their tanks. Only forty-five minutes have passed since they first emerged from the underbrush. They will have more resistance up ahead. Eventually they will face the laser beams of the far superior M-1 tanks. They will taste defeat.
     Once again, poor put-upon Cortina will be saved from the evil Atlanticans. Peace will come again to the island until, of course, the next rotation.
     One casualty raises a finger at the passing victors. But he smiles. He'll be back in Hawaii soon and he knows the OPFOR victors must stay to fight another battle in the steamy Louisiana forest next month.