Chapter 6: Richard Newoll Garrison, The Kingpin
By the time Sergeant Richard Newoll Garrison—"The Kingpin"—joined our unit, I had stopped expecting anything from new arrivals. I’d seen too many good soldiers come and go, too many faces disappear into the chaos of war. But Garrison wasn’t someone you could ignore. He walked into our unit like he owned it, carrying himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. And somehow, he made it work.
Garrison earned his nickname because he treated war like a chessboard, always five steps ahead, always calculating. He wasn’t warm or approachable, but he had a way of commanding respect without asking for it. “You don’t win by fighting harder,” he said once. “You win by fighting smarter.”
Our defining mission with him happened deep in enemy-held territory. A supply convoy had gone radio silent, and command suspected it had been ambushed. We were tasked with finding the convoy and, if possible, rescuing any survivors. The odds weren’t in our favor. The enemy had the high ground, and the terrain was a maze of ridges and narrow passes that left us exposed at every turn.
Garrison took charge, mapping out a plan that made the rest of us skeptical. “We’ll divide into two teams,” he said, his voice steady. “One will draw their attention. The other will flank and take out their position. They’ll never see it coming.”
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It sounded simple—too simple, honestly—but Garrison’s confidence was infectious. When the ambush came, it played out exactly as he had predicted. The enemy’s focus shifted to the decoy team, leaving their flank wide open. Garrison led the flanking maneuver himself, and within minutes, we had neutralized their position and secured the convoy.
The mission wasn’t without its dangers, though. At one point, we came under heavy fire, pinned down by a machine-gun nest. Garrison didn’t hesitate—he moved with precision, positioning himself to take out the gunners with a clean and calculated strike. It was a reminder that, for all his strategic brilliance, he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.
When we regrouped, one of the younger soldiers muttered, “How the hell does he always know what to do?” Garrison overheard and smirked. “It’s not magic,” he said. “It’s math. And practice.”
Months later, I learned Garrison had been promoted to Captain. It wasn’t surprising. If anyone was born to lead, it was him. The Kingpin had become more than a nickname—it was who he was, through and through. And while he wasn’t someone I’d ever call a friend, I was grateful to have fought under his command. Leadership like his was rare, and in a place like Afghanistan, it made all the difference.