Chapter 7, The Amazing Adventures of Ralph Kroder, a work in progress

      

  Blowing up Sudan

(Several Years Before)

       Sergeant Hasdrubal Phillips checked the door of the Sudanese goat herder’s shack for tripwires, then cautiously stepped inside. He backed out faster, much faster, whispering, “Holy moly!”

       Platoon Sergeant Ralph Kroder was standing nearby. Knowing Phillips’ disdain for reptiles, he said, “There a viper in there, Haz?” Sudan was home to a dozen or so vipers. Ralph had made it plain to his soldiers: “Leave the snakes alone. I don’t care what you do with snakes back home. Here, you kill ‘em.”    

“Ain’t no viper,” Phillips said, turning toward Ralph. He wiped a hand across his brow, removing most of the fear sweat. “There’s enough explosives in there to blow up …” He waved a hand. “I don’t know. Anything you can think of.” He walked a ways off. “I think we need to mount up, drive about a mile away and call EOD.”

       “Too late in the day,” Ralph said. “It would take them an hour to get here, and by then it’d be too dark for them to see what’s in there.”

       “I know what’s in there,” Phillips said, gesturing at the wood and mud shack. “A whole shit load of Semtex, that’s what’s in there. And—And a bunch of weapons I don’t know what kind they are.”

       By now, several other soldiers were gathering around, drawn by the unusualness of Phillips’ actions and words.

       Ralph sent everybody away. “Hey, hey. You’re supposed to be securing the perimeter and looking for stuff. Nothing to see here but a few tons of Semtex, a bunch of weapons and ammunition.” He looked at Phillips. “There’s ammunition in the shack?”

       Phillips nodded. “Lots of it. All in wooden crates.”

       “Okay,” Ralph said. He took the radio microphone from its vest attachment and called company headquarters, asking the CO’s radio operator to let the commander know of the finding and that he would give a look and call back with information. Then, he grinned at Phillips. “You want to show me what you found?”

       Ralph went first into the shack, with Phillips reluctantly following. Light from Ralph’s flashlight shone through the gloom, illuminating stack after stack of plastic explosive bricks.

       “Damn,” Ralph said. “There must be about a thousand pounds here.”

       “Ain’t that what I said?” Phillips said. “What’re we gonna do with it?”

       “We’re going to blow it in place,” Ralph said. Phillips made some comment, but Ralph didn’t hear. He saw five crates of RPK-74 machine guns, but the big surprise came when his flashlight beam fell on a STEN gun, which sat on a crate of 9mm ammunition. “We won’t blow everything,” he said. He searched the area around the STEN and the crate, all sides and underneath. “Okay,” he said.

       When Ralph slid his hands beneath the wooden crate, Phillips said, “You gonna pick it up?”

       “I am,” Ralph said. “You might as well stay where you are. If I missed anything and this is booby-trapped, you wouldn’t get far enough away.”

       “You’re crazy,” Phillips said.

       “Could be,” Ralph said. The crate came free from the dirt floor. “Okay,” Ralph said when certain he had not blown up Phillips and himself. He stood and carried the crate and the almost ninety-year-old submachine gun past Phillips and into the sunlight. He set the crate on the ground and picked up the STEN.

       “That looks like it was made in somebody’s garage,” Phillips said.

       Concentrating on carrying the crate, Ralph was not aware Phillips had followed him. He looked at the young sergeant. “I am always surprised when a soldier indicates lack of knowledge about weapons.” Phillips only shrugged. Ralph said, “I will not give you any information on this STEN gun other than to say the design comes from the Second World War. It cost about ten dollars then and took five hours to make. If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to look it up.” He removed the empty magazine and locked back the bolt. “In fact, tomorrow morning I want a one-page report on this weapon.”

       “A report?” a surprised Phillips said.

       “Wrong answer.”

       “Oh. Yes, Sergeant.”

       “That’s better,” Ralph said. “Now, would you please find Sergeant Pham and ask him to join me?”

       “Yes, Sergeant.”

       “Thank you.” As Phillips walked away, Ralph took his field knife and began work on the ammunition crate wire closures.

       Sergeant Pham was the platoon demolition man. He did not hold a specified slot in demolitions, but most infantry platoons have at least one soldier who has self-learned demolitions, as well as some who have completed an explosives course.

       “Wow,” Pham said when joining Ralph near the command vehicle. “Is that a real STEN?”

       “It is,” Ralph said.

       “Does it fire?”

       “I disassembled it and checked everything,” Ralph said. “All parts function, as far as I can tell.”

       Pham said, “Haz said you’d found an old gun, but he didn’t remember what kind.” He tapped the crate. “And a whole lot of ammo, too.”

       “And one magazine,” Ralph said.

       Pham laughed. “Probably not in stock.”

       “Probably not. Haz tell you what else we found?”

       “Half a ton of Semtex?”

       “Yep,” Ralph said, nodding.

       “You want me to blow it?”

       “If you don’t mind.”

       Grinning, Pham said, “Oh, hell yes.”

       “You need any help?”

       “I’d prefer to work by myself.”

       “Okay,” Ralph said.

       “How long a fuse do you want?”

       “Ten minutes be enough?”

       “That will get us far enough away.”

       “Okay,” Ralph said. He put the STEN on top of the crate, stood and picked up the crate. “I’ll get the vehicles pointed in the direction of away and get everybody loaded.”

       Pham said, “I’ll have it all set up by then.” He grinned. “Probably before.”

       Pham was good to his word. He had a block of C4 sitting on the Semtex, and a timed fuse-igniter ready to set as Ralph was directing the last Stalker into position. He stood outside the shack as Ralph drew near. “All ready,” he said.

       “Ten minutes,” Ralph said.

       “Let’s make it twelve,” Pham said. “We can drive for ten minutes and then we’ll have two minutes for everybody to get into a good watching position, get their cameras all ready to video the show.”

       “Sounds good,” Ralph said. He waited while Pham set and initiated the timer.

       “Coffee’s on,” Pham said, grinning.

       The five Stalkers drove west for ten minutes. Ralph directed the vehicles into a line facing east. Ramps dropped and the soldiers dismounted, all talking about the upcoming explosion. The goat herder’s shack was a black dot in the red desert.

       “One minute,” Pham announced.

       All dismounted soldiers stood in front of the armored personnel carriers. Drivers and vehicle commanders stood in their hatches.

       Pham yelled out, “Thirty seconds!”

       Ralph said to Pham, “I’ve never seen half a ton go up at one time.”

       “Me, neither,” Pham said. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

       “Give us a countdown,” Ralph said. He watched as every soldier, including Pham, activated cell phone cameras.

       “Ten seconds,” Pham called, while pointing his camera toward the target area. He counted down, reaching two seconds when a small red dot suddenly became a cloud of red sand pushed up by a red ball of exploding Semtex. The red sand flew high into the air and expanded in a sphere quickly eliminated by the burning explosive.

       “Holy moly,” Ralph said.

       His soldiers shouted phrases much more profane. Ralph grinned. Unlike other soldiers, American soldiers always voiced pleasure when things blew up.

       A wave of dust swept across the desert. The shockwave swept around and over the soldiers, pushing against camouflage clad chests and legs.

       “All right, show’s over,” Ralph said, after the wind passed. “Mount up. We’ve got a patrol to finish.”

       Pham was running the platoon sergeant’s Stalker while Ralph was platoon leader. As the two neared their vehicles, Pham said, “You think an LT would have let us have a little fun now and then?”

       “The splodey stuff, you mean?”

       “Yep.”

       “Depends on the lieutenant,” Ralph said. He shrugged. “Some platoon sergeants wouldn’t allow such deviation from a patrol order.”

       Pham said, “You can’t just leave that much stuff.”

       “Nope,” Ralph said. “Some platoon sergeants would call in a report and then wait for EOD to arrive.”

       “Shoot, that could be next day.”

       “That’s what we were told.”

       Shaking his head, Pham said, “I’d hate to spend all night with that much Semtex. I mean, the rag heads might decide to drive out and pick up their stash. Then you’d have a fight with half a ton of plastique at your back.” He waved a hand. “Or lightning might hit the stuff.”

       “Two good reasons to blow it in place,” Ralph said, smiling. “Plus, it makes a hell of a show.”