Embedded During Exercise Charging Bison
Marching as to war Uptown Journalist joins the troops for Exercise Charging Bison
Marlo Campbell

Exercise Charging Bison, the largest urban-warfare training event to be held in Canada, took place in Winnipeg from April 30 to May 6. Over 500 reservists participated.

I had covered the protests, so on May 4 it was time to infiltrate the army.

Meet the enemy

I arrive at tactical headquarters — the Red River Ex grounds — knowing very little. I’ve been given a list of supplies to bring and was told to show up at 12:45 p.m.

Inside, I’m issued a helmet and flak vest. They’re much heavier then they look. Military types in fatigues chat with each other and drink coffee. A rack of rifles is set up along the far wall.

An intelligence briefing is held to help us understand the situation we’re about to immerse ourselves in for the next 24 hours.

Winnipeg is now ‘Windahar,’ a city in the failed state of West Isle. A corrupt government and a civil war between ethnic groups has created a situation of lawlessness and disorder. The drug trade is flourishing.

Three groups are identified: The People’s Liberation Army (PLA), a loose faction of local militias, friendly in some areas but hostile in others; The Internal Solidarity Movement (ISM), an active insurgency group known for sniper attacks, ambushes and improvised explosive devices (IEDs); and the Black Dawn Brigade (BDB), a militant, radical group with ties to al-Qaida. The Black Dawn Brigade favours suicide bombs and wants us dead.

Next, we’re given a quick safety briefing, which ends with the motto, “Always try not to get killed.”

As we’re leaving, a sniper takes out two gate guards. The compound goes on high alert. Soldiers aim their guns at us as we get into our van.

Suiting Up

Le Rendez-Vous in St. Boniface has become ‘Camp Voyageur’ — home base for 116 troops from three regiments. I’m assigned to the Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders of Canada, a light-infantry unit based in Winnipeg.

Infantry troops like the Camerons move on the ground, travelling mostly by foot. They’re often the first troops on the scene — “where the tough shit is,” as Master Cpl. Carrigan puts it.

Master Cpl. Witkowski lets me check out and try on his gear: a vest and helmet, a radio and headpiece, a pair of night-vision goggles, a C-7 rifle and a 9-mm pistol. Usually, they also carry 150 rounds of ammunition and, if they’re travelling any distance, a backpack filled with supplies.

I’m so top-heavy that I almost fall over when I bend down to get my camera.

Hours later, I try to process how I felt holding a real gun for the first time.

I ask Pte. Steele if boot camp is at all like what you see in the movies. He says it’s designed to be a situation of maximum stress and admits “there’s a lot of yelling.”

Peacekeepers or Soldiers?

The Camerons head off to shower, leaving me alone. I want to approach one of the female soldiers, but I’m hesitant because I’ve been told they don’t like to be singled out.

Instead, I eat a peanut-butter sandwich (food is always left out) and walk up to Rifleman Dmytrow, who’s sitting in between the rows of cots, cleaning his weapon. He’s with the Royal Winnipeg Rifles, another infantry unit. I ask if I can take his picture.

Before long, a small group of soldiers has formed. Most joined the reserves in high school as part of a co-op program where they received credits and got paid for their participation.

Before I ‘joined the service,’ some protesters talked about the “myth of peacekeeping,” taking issue with the changing role of Canadian soldiers in places like Afghanistan (where 200 of the soldiers involved in Exercise Charging Bison may be sent). I bring this up, expecting the riflemen to defend the commonly held notion of Canadian peacekeeping. I’m surprised when they seem almost offended.

They tell me they’re trained to be combat soldiers, not peacekeepers.

They laugh when I ask about the stereotype of soldiers as brainwashed, gun-crazy nutjobs. They tell me they’re held to a higher moral standard and bound by the rules of engagement. They feel they’re doing something meaningful. All of them want to go overseas.

Miles and MILES

Just after 7 p.m., we head out on an eight-kilometre ‘presence patrol.’ Cpl. Degelman is in charge tonight, commanding eight men and two G-wagons (a sort of armoured SUV). He’s been in the reserves for five years and was deployed to Afghanistan for six months back in 2004. He’s 21 years old.

It’s quieter than I expected, with the soldiers communicating mostly by hand signals. Outside Club St. B, we come across a checkstop manned by armed members of the PLA. The Camerons drop to a kneeling position and watch for snipers.

The PLA won’t let us pass unless they call their commander, but Degelman won’t allow the leader to use his cell phone because they’re often used to detonate IEDs. Things escalate.

As we wait, Winnipeggers heading in and out of the beer vendor watch us with interest. Some throw their hands up in mock surrender. A little girl rides by on her bike.

The soldiers are reminded to stay focused and watch the windows. I’m hyper-aware of my surroundings: unarmed, I feel vulnerable. I’m an easy target. There are a lot of windows.

Two more G-wagons arrive. Outgunned, the PLA finally backs down and lets us pass.

As we walk, I talk with Chief Warrant Officer O’Donnell, who’s been in the military for 26 years. He’s our observer-commander and will facilitate the after-action review (AAR), where soldiers discuss their performance. Should we be attacked, he’ll also designate various injuries in order to train the medics.

The soldiers and their weapons are equipped with a type of laser-tag gear called MILES (multiple integrated laser engagement system). A sensor sounds when a soldier is hit, with different tones indicating the degree of injury. The MILES system also records where each ‘bullet’ lands, letting soldiers know if they hit the enemy, missed the target or hit one of their own.

The rest of our patrol is uneventful. Night falls. We pass two more checkstops and some National Guardsmen from the U.S. at a makeshift refuelling area. My flak vest makes it feel like someone is pushing down on my shoulders, and I try to inconspicuously hold it up to relieve the pressure. Several cars honk support as they drive past.

We return to camp around 11:15 p.m. for debriefing. Despite a communication breakdown (our radios failed), we’re told we performed well. It’s almost midnight by the time Cpl. Degelman has written up his patrol report and I finally crawl into my sleeping bag.

An hour later, I’m woken up for sentry duty.

I Love the Smell of Mushrooms in the Morning

It’s 1 a.m. and cold, and it smells like St. Boniface. Cpl. Degelman and I sit on the roof, passing the time by sharing travel stories and talking about music. We watch the 3 a.m. patrol set off.

The soldiers are averaging about five hours of sleep per 24-hour block, and they usually sleep in short naps. Schedules are constantly disrupted or changed. Maj. Holmes, squadron commander, explains that fuzzy minds make mistakes, and soldiers need to be able to react quickly and appropriately at all times. Lieut. Petrin adds that most soldiers need to be forced to rest.

Indeed, when another reservist climbs up to relieve us an hour earlier than planned, Degelman is suspicious and doesn’t want to leave, even though it means he’ll get a whole three hours of sleep if he does.

I return to my cot at 4 a.m., but I’m too cold to sleep, even with all my clothes on (including a tuque).

It’s surprisingly quiet, save for some snoring and the occasional fart. I drift off sometime before five, an hour before the lights get turned on.

Honourable Discharge

It’s Day 7 of the exercise. Breakfast is french toast, hard-boiled eggs, ham, potatoes, beans and coffee — decidedly better than yesterday’s dinner of bagged rations.

After cleanup, soldiers pass the time by playing cards, reading the paper or sleeping. I’m told military service is 90 per cent boredom and 10 per cent action.

I feel a lot like I do on Folk Fest Sunday: dirty, tired and shaky. The Camerons have been on rotating gate duty since 7 a.m.

I wander over with a coffee and make small talk — apparently, the soldiers have been told that each of today’s patrols will be attacked. I’ll miss all the action because my ride comes to take me back to HQ.

I take a few more pictures and thank the guys for letting me tag along. Somebody on the roof shouts goodbye.

I tell them to try not to get killed and walk through the gate.