Hold the Line

Photo by Scandinavian Backlash on Unsplash

You were given this position to hold, this left flank where the enemy wants to sweep around the back of the troops and scatter them left and right. You were told to hold the line here. Right here across this ridge.

Not down below at those boulders where you spent five years scrimmaging until you realized that that a pile of rocks is an island and not worth protecting. Not over there in the willows of the river where you sunk in the mud and found yourself thrusting your knife into the fog without a clue whom you might be hitting. No. Here on this ridge. This is your ground.

You can know the high ground because it follows the shoulder of hills that comes down from the great mountains themselves. These heights are ours. Give no thought to the low grounds. The enemy can have those for all we care. Ours is the high ground.

The high ground is order and patience together. Never one without the other. A tidy camp but not immediately. Tell your troops to keep their things in order, but show them how. Impress upon them to do it and then give them the opportunity to. Do not give each soldier too many personal items to keep in order. If there is no place for it, he cannot have it. Model it. Teach it. And train them. The line is held in order and patience.

The high ground is detachment and camaraderie together. Never one without the other. A clear separation between sergeant and troops, and yet a oneness in the fight and in the victories and in the injuries. You are their leader. They are looking to you to identify the enemy, to uphold the high ground, and execute discipline. They are not your buddy until they promote to sergeant of their own troops. But, in the meantime, you must fight with them. Dig trenches alongside them. Visit them in the medic tent. For the line is held through your detachment and your camaraderie.

The high ground is also freedoms and consequences. Let the men play their card games. Let them have their rations of cigarettes and beer. Tell them about the dangers of these things, but then allow them the freedom to make their own choices without your frowning scowl. They must learn on their own. Give them corporal punishment for brawling after games. Give them a bread and water diet for a week when they get drunk. And confiscate their possessions when they steal. But let them choose. A teetotalist puritan sergeant may run a tight ship, but his troops are itching to be out from under him and find they have no self-control when their strict leader is gone. The line must be held in freedoms and consequences.

I could go on describing the high ground, but the enemy is gathering up for today’s attack. Form up your lines. Defend this ground. It is part of the Commander-in Chief's mountains. Take back the ground that was lost yesterday. You have the authority and the man power and the ammo. Don’t forget the ammo. Don’t forget it and fight with your fists. Your own strength does diddly squat against this enemy. Use the Commander-in-Chief’s amo. It always works and it never runs out.

For and by the love of God, hold the line!