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Essay One
The Fire Direction Center
NOTE: An asterisk after a name means that it is not the person's real name. Having
forgotten his correct name in the last 50 years, I have had to furnish a substitute.
The sides have been rolled up on the light-proof CP tent to let in light and air, and the
crew of the Fire Direction Center (FDC) has relaxed and spread into the surrounding outdoors.
The scene is calm.
Smith *, the A Battery Computor, is writing a letter home. S/Sgt Hallick, the Chief
Computor, a tall blond youth, is sharing a joke with T/4 Devlin, the HCO (Horizontal Control
Operator). Devlin is of medium build, with a blue-black beard showing through his morning
shave. These two are close friends; the others call them the "Rover Boys" because they go off
away from everyone to sleep at night and are late showing up in an emergency. Or sometimes
even for breakfast.
Hallick is from "Lon Gyland"; he says he knows people from "Long Island," but they are
from a different area and ambiance.
Devlin hails from Fargo, North Dakota, across the river from Lt Col Costain's home town
of Moorhead, Minnesota. They exchange newspapers or clippings from home.
T/4 Harris, the VCO (Vertical Control Operator), a small, pale, unobtrusive man, is
reading a book. He is a college graduate-a fraternity brother to Lt. Mendecino of B Battery.
Harris is smart enough to be an officer, but he failed to impress the board when he was
interviewed for Officer Candidate School,
T/5 Gillis and PFC Jones*, the B and C Battery Computors, are arguing heatedly about
nothing in particular.
Major Swatosh, the S-3, has gone off to confer with the Battalion Commander. He will
probably stop by the kitchen truck for a cup of coffee on the way back.
Captain Thomson, the Assistant S-3, who has drifted over to the S-2 section, is looking at
the Situation Map there. Don Thomson has curly blond hair, a pug nose, and heavily muscled
lips from having played the trombone in a dance band to work his way through Iowa State. He is
brilliant and very good at his job, but has a bad habit of making clever remarks at the wrong time
and to the wrong people.
"Bob," he says to me, "are you sure you have the location of the 359th OP right? It looks
like a hell of a place for an observation post. "
Before I can explain that an infantry observation post is different from an artillery OP, a
phone rings. His phone. The fire direction phone. Everyone freezes. All conversation stops.
Smith* puts the cap on his fountain pen. Harris, closes the book over his finger to hold the place
and glances toward the folding table in the tent which holds the map that is his VCO chart.
Jones* and Gillis, their mouths still open from the argument, start to fumble for their telephones,
clip boards, and Graphical Firing Tables (these latter look like large slide rules). Captain Thomson
takes quick steps toward his own place of business.
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