Chapter Sixteen. "Welcome to Camp Swampy."_Tactical Deception. Part One. Call Sign: "Footloose One." Chapter One.

Chapter Sixteen.

The bus pulled to a stop outside the Camp Peary Headquarters building. One of the instructors, all of whom from now on would be known as TI's to the new intake of trainees, was short and stocky; with a typical Marine Corps buzz-cut. He herded them off the bus and lined them up in the reception hall. He eyed the trainees several times before finally coming to the front and centre.

'Welcome to Camp Peary. I am your primary Training Instructor. My name is Campbell... but you will call me "Sir" at all times. As of now you are under the control of the Department of Defense, Camp Peary. You are not to go anywhere other than the Chow Hall without the express permission from one of the Training Instructors. I will accept nothing less than perfection from you. From here on in you will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?'

A feeble chorus of "Yes" and "Yes, Sir" echoed from the group. Campbell gave them a melancholy stare. He began prowling up and down in front of them, and then turned. He took a deep breath and shouted.

'What Was That? You will respond with your answer, followed by "Sir" or "Ma'am." You will address everyone who is not a trainee this way. Now, is that understood?'

'Yes, Sir,' the trainees began in unison.

'What?'

Campbell asked again.

'Yes, Sir,'

The trainees shouted more loudly.

'What?'

'Yes Sir,'

The trainees shouted even more loudly.

Campbell rocked gently on his heels and afforded the hapless trainees a bilious glare.

'Better. I can't believe that this is the quality of trainees coming into the program today.'

He stepped back a few paces.

'This reception area is your last opportunity to surrender any contraband in your possession. This includes Tobacco products, alcohol, and any drugs without a prescription, including over-the-counter drugs, like Nyquil or Tylenol. The pay phones on the far wall are your last chance to contact home before the end of the month. Any questions?'

Silence.

Campbell backed up a few paces.

'Now, on my command, you will form two lines in front of me. Luggage to your left side. Ready! Fall In!

The trainees grabbed their gear and shuffled forward to create the two lines. The four trainees in the front row to Campbell's left snapped into place quickly, but dropped their gear on their right. Campbell went slightly pink. He opened his mouth and roared at the hapless trainees.

'Good grief? Are you trainees deaf? You, you, you, and you. Out of formation and drop! Gimme fifteen… Now!'

He yelled at the one trainee who had pumped out fifteen push-ups and had started to stand up.

'I didn't say you could get up! fifteen more, Now! The rest of you, back in formation! Hurry up, trainee! The rest of the class is waiting for you! Now, back in place. Didn't your mama teach you to listen? Now, I don't like to repeat myself. It makes my normally bright, winning personality fade away. I get a bit testy. So Do Not Make Me Repeat Myself Again!... Bags On Your Left!'

The four trainees quickly shifted their bags to their left side. Campbell stalked around the trainees inspecting their formation. He snarled,

'Pathetic! I know that My Agency requires a high school education; but what I don't know is how you pathetic excuses for trainees can think that THIS is a Line. This is not straight. This is as straight as the panels on a hillbilly's rusty-ass truck. Straighten It Out Now!'

The trainees jumped to straighten out the line. Campbell nodded.

'Better. But far from perfect. Now, I am a simple guy who likes everything in order. Order is good. Chaos is bad. On my mark, I want everyone to pick up their bags and turn to their right. Not Yet! You will now determine if you are taller than the trainee in front of you. Understood?'

The trainees yelled in unison…

'Yes, Sir.'

Campbell eyed them up and down;

'Ready. Pick 'em up!'

The trainees grabbed their bags and stood rigidly to attention.

'That was too slow. Put 'em down! Pick 'em up! All together now, Put 'em down! Pick 'em up! This is just sad! I can't believe that I am wasting my time on you! Right - Hace!'

A few of the trainees were caught by surprise and failed to turn with the group. Campbell strode up to the now, completely unnerved culprits.

'What? Are You Ladies Paying Attention To Me?... Or Are We Moving Too Fast For You To Keep Up?... Left Hace! - Right Hace! - Left Hace! - Right Hace! You Are Making Me Repeat Myself!'

The flustered trainees shuffled the tallest to the front. Campbell continued to circle the group silently, like a prowling shark with the scent of blood. He barked out another command…

'Open Ranks… Harch!'

The trainees managed a quite reasonable drill manoeuvre of opening their ranks.

Campbell ghosted in between the two ranks like a short-tailed weasel stalking a rabbit. As he moved along the trainees, they were each giving a very passable impression of being like a deer caught in the headlamps. At the centre of the rear rank, he paused.

'Now that we have, at last, managed to get some sort of order, I will instruct you on reporting. When addressed individually by any Training Instructor, you will give a reporting statement. The reporting statement is as follows, "Sir, Trainee - state your name - reports as ordered."

He stopped in front of a trainee who had the build of a Fraternity fullback. Sticking his jaw out, Campbell yelled,

'Trainee, Report!'

Ramrod straight, and eyes front; fullback yelled in an equally loud voice…

'Sir, Trainee Garratt Reports As Ordered!'

Then waited silently for criticism. He braced himself for the shout and was visibly surprised when nothing happened.

Nodding, Campbell continued around the formation. He paused in front of his next victim… a studious-looking, Alma Mater sort of guy.

'Trainee, Report!'

"Sir, Trainee Strickland Reporting As Ordered!" came the confident reply. Campbell gave Trainee Strickland a gentle smile. The rest of the formation held its breath.

'And just what are you reporting, Trainee Strickland?'

Trainee Strickland gave Campbell a bewildered, confused look.

'Uh, Sir?'

Campbell shifted up a gear.

'Trainee Strickland, are you too dumb to follow the simplest instructions? I asked you for a simple reporting statement. I don't want a declaration of the State of the Union; the weather and traffic bulletin of whatever two-bit town you come from; and I could care less about whether you've got a hard-on for your Alma Mater's Sorority Queen. I have no idea why you would want to be reporting any of this to me. I don't give a damn. Your fellow trainees don't give a damn. The word that you seem to be having the greatest difficulty in grasping is, "reports." A trainee "reports" as ordered. They are not reporting anything. Do I make myself clear?'

"Yes, Sir."

"Trainee, Report!"

"Sir, Trainee Strickland Reports As Ordered!"

"Trainee, Report!"

"Sir, Trainee Strickland Reports As Ordered!"

"Trainee, Report!"

"Sir, Trainee Strickland Reports As Ordered!"

"Trainee, Report!"

"Sir, Trainee Strickland Reports As Ordered!"

Circling back around to the front, Campbell stood with his hands on his hips.

'Trainees, Report!

The group chorused the required response:

'Trainees, Report!

The group chorused the required response again.

Campbell nodded. He turned to his Assistant, who had been standing with the other instructors watching the initiation ceremony with ill-concealed amusement, and spoke to him for the first time since this scenario had started; in a normal tone of voice.

'It'll do for now. Mr Randall. If you will be so kind as to escort these pansies to their new home.'

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

'Yes, Sir!'

The young man dressed in black fatigues approached the front of the formation.

'You will enter all facilities by column formation. You…'

He pointed at the first column on the right,

'… Are Element One. You are Element Two. And so forth. When given the command to enter a facility by columns, on the "Harch" command, Element One will begin to enter the facility. After the last person in Element One passes, the Element Two Leader will lead Element Two to follow Element One. Understood?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good! By Columns, Follow Me… For'd, Harch!'

And Instructor Randall sprinted off towards the door. The, by now, totally confused first trainee in Element One hadn't quite grasped that "For'd" was the attention-getting and directive part of the command; and that "Harch" was the executive part of the command, at which they began to move. He immediately started running after Randall at the first part of his command, spooking the rest of his column, who took off in pursuit of their leader like startled hares. As the last one passed the first trainee of Element Two; that column also galloped away.

Stacey looked around. None of the other instructors seemed at all concerned with Campbell's somewhat forthright induction, and the fluster that it had undoubtedly instilled in the trainees. It had certainly been in a different league to what went on at Langley; but she supposed that seeing as The Farm's sole purpose was to turn out totally efficient case officers; it was just as well that these trainees went into the course with their eyes wide open. Campbell came across towards her. She thought, "Oh, Shit!" and subconsciously began to check over her appearance. He stopped in front of her and held out his hand.

'You must be the new kid on the block. Welcome to Camp Swampy…'

He glanced at the insignia on her security ID Badge, and nodded.

'Is that the real deal?... or something the Agency cooked up?'

She gave him an enigmatic smile.

'No real names, remember? The insignia though, is the real deal.'

Campbell whistled softly through his teeth.

'Damn! Field-grade Aviation branch; what 'd'you fly, Ma'am?'

Stacey studied him.

'I flew a Huey, Mr Campbell.'

He gave her a dubious glance.

'Didn't think the Army had women chopper jocks.'

She smiled.

'They haven't, Mr Campbell. I was in the "Other" Theatre.'

He was silent for a moment. Then he said,

'Oh… admin flights and the like?'

She shook her head.

'I wish! No, Mr Campbell, I did it all. Rice drops, Dust-offs; Search and Rescue… the whole shebang. Shot down twice, and had to hump out across seventy klicks of Indian country with my flight buddy. That's one of the reasons why the DCI posted me down here to instruct in Field craft and Survival techniques. When Charlie's chewing at your butt out in the Boondocks, you have to stay sharp.'

Campbell studied her quietly.

'So; we're talking Air America?'

She smiled.

'I'm not talking anything, Mr Campbell. Let's just say that I know what I'm doing, and leave it at that, shall we?'

Six months in; and Stacey had spent her time instructing classes in Field craft and Survival techniques. She had not accompanied any of the trainees out into the wilds of Camp Peary… as would normally have been the case; because as yet, the M.O. was not yet satisfied that her old injuries would stand up to the gruelling exercises in the woods. Her linguistic talents had not been called upon, and she was beginning to get bored with the whole thing… the Farm was just one big elaborate game for men who'd never really grown up... boys with toys.

The routine was monotonous; the trainees returned from morning PT, which was followed by breakfast at the chow hall which was staffed by large black mamas who moved ponderously, dishing up waffles, flapjacks, eggs, gravy and grits all accompanied by thick, greasy slabs of bacon. After that, the trainees were marched off for lessons in land navigation. This was undertaken in full camouflage gear and boots, whilst being weighed down with compass, protractor, flashlight; topographical maps; radio, two-day water supply, first aid kit; dehydrated meals packs, a sixty-pound pack and plastic, replica M16s.

Completely stuffed out with their high-carbohydrate meal, they struggled through the thick, humid Virginia woods, lurking under cover in the thick bushes, whilst pretending to be a raiding party searching out some enemy arms dump… from deliberately vague co-ordinates… which was guarded by an ostensible hostile force… the hawk-eyed instructors. Just to make it more uncomfortable, they had to negotiate a section of the ten-thousand acre forest which swarmed with millions of blood-thirsty mosquitoes, chiggers, and gnats; Lyme disease-carrying ticks; poison ivy and poison oak thickets, in a landscape where every tree looked the same, which caused many of them to end up going around in circles.

Lunch was a sandwich, and then they were off again for afternoon activity which included her lectures. There was really only so much she could teach them about evasion and living off the land; besides camouflage, evasion, escape, and improvised weaponry. The only way to instil effective survival techniques, was for them to actually experience it… and, having practiced escape and evasion from an ostensible hostile force - the instructors; combined with running at least three miles in the morning, trekking through the woods with eighty-pound back-packs and a genuine M-16 rifle; the whole scenario was completely different to being pursued by an enemy who was intent on killing you if you were caught.

Whilst the trainees were being taught by the other instructors the arts of asset entanglement, evasion techniques; improvised self defence and fight techniques, deception training, covert surveillance; analytical combat, espionage; manipulation tactics, and personality-type identification; one instructor, who was known only as "Mr Jones" was teaching a select few of the trainees in something called the "Dark Arts". The "Dark Arts" consisted of con-artistry type stuff, comprising sleight of hand, lying, cheating, stealing, and trickery. No one knew much about him… and no one asked any questions.

The remainder of the trainees spent the first couple of weeks in paramilitary training which typically involved using ropes to cross a swamp-filled ravine carrying a dummy who was supposed to be an injured man. Next they had to negotiate an obstacle course that involved running for about half a mile in full kit; followed by crawling through slimy, cloying mud, shinning up ropes, and jumping from one tree stump to another. Anyone who washed out was sent back to Langley to ride a desk.

The system was geared to make or break them. Failing the paramilitary course didn't mean they were fired... they just didn't have the "right stuff" to become field agents. If the instructors decided that these trainees had other talents, they still had a secure career with The Company. The Agency clearly understood that the career trainees were rarely, if ever, going to be called upon to use these skills, but the Farm paramilitary course remained a popular class because management realised it forged an esprit de corps that would last throughout one's career. Moreover, it gave the Agency another opportunity to evaluate a new employee’s strength of character, ability to work in a team, and dedication… all skills critical to success in the Agency, no matter what their career path would be.

The real test to weed out those who did not have the resilience to evade capture in hostile territory was the compass course in land navigation. The trainees were told to line up on a numbered stick and start off across a wood, navigating only by compass. The idea was to emerge on the other side at the same numbered stick. When the instructors were satisfied that the trainees had mastered the day runs, they started night runs, using compasses and flashlights. Then came runs through a particularly putrid area in the southern part of the Farm known as Haring swamp... sucking muck topped by thick saw grass into which, unless they kept in single file and navigated accurately to some specific landmark; an unwary trainee could be sucked in up to his neck. This area; to the north of Queen Creek was chosen because it was just too big for the trainee teams to walk around it because they would have been thrown badly off course. But at least, they realised that none of the defending "hostiles" would be stupid enough to try and track them across it. If they were going to catch the team, it would have to be from the front.

This particular exercise was difficult enough to accomplish in daylight and finally, they had to complete the same exercise at night. The career trainees who passed the fitness and navigation tests were divided into groups of eight and assembled at dawn for a stiff hike through the woods weighed down by a backpack full of sandbags. This was followed by a period of calisthenics... gymnastic exercises which were designed to achieve bodily fitness and grace of movement; which was followed by a sprint around the obstacle course again, with the group leader bawling out the Farm's version of the Marine Corps cadence...

"Mama, Mama, Can't you see what the Farm is doing to me?

Up in the morning much too soon. We're still marching after noon…"