At the basic school (TBS), Quantico 3

I was fortunate enough to be invited to join a group of artists for an extended 3-day sketching tour of USMC MOUT urban warfare training at The Basic School (TBS) in the backwoods of Quantico, Virginia last week. Or fighting house-to-house in layman’s terms. It was cold as witch’s refrigerator out there.

The Corps has constructed a number of faux small towns and villages out here in the woods. No expense spared to duplicate one of those dusty hot countries we can’t seem to draw down from. They are quite cleverly detailed, with stores, gas stations, homes, and street vendor stalls. There are fruits and vegetables in the stalls outside, and meat hanging in the butcher’s shops. The buildings are one, two, and three stories. There is an apartment building, and an embassy. In some scenarios there will also be civilians, either actors, or other Marines dressed in civvies pretending to be actors. It is all designed to thoroughly mimic the confusing diversity of input that can often obfuscate or overwhelm decision-making while trying to fight in an urban scenario. I guess.

MOUT stands for mobile operations in urban terrain. That is the United States military acronym for urban warfare. The Brit acronym is FIBUA (Fighting in Built-Up Areas). The Brits also have a non-official acronym - FISH & CHIPS which satirically stands for (fighting in someone's house and causing havoc in people's streets). Likely coined in Basra.

Regardless of what acronym you use however, fighting in an urban environment held by an enemy force looks like a bit of a chuffing nightmare. Absolutely anything and everything might be a threat. Every window might have a shooter in it, every doorway and object might be wired, and every piece of shelter might be already bracketed. Then add in the innocents – everything from goats to grandma’s – and taking back a town looks like a miserable job for highly-skilled experts. These Marines are not those experts, but they might end up becoming them, or commanding them.

Most of these young men and women are newly commissioned or appointed officers. The bulk of them are second lieutenants. Over the course of their 6 months at TBS they are trained and educated by front-line experienced instructors in the standards expected for duty as company grade officers in the USMC, with particular emphasis on warfighting skills required of a rifle platoon commander. MOUT is part of the warfighting bit.

When we first meet, they are already a few days into their MOUT training, and they all look a little worse for wear. They have been sleeping rough inside the buildings that make up MOUT town. Nice and warm. But it is a fa?ade. There is no glass in these windows to block the wind, and behind the faux-stucco- breezeblock walls there are, for the most part, only cold damp concrete floors. Not a great environment for a good night’s sleep, so they don’t look well rested.

Each platoon stages some distance from the objective, out of site of the defenders beyond the tree line and does a quick meet around the sand table (logs and sticks and MRE boxes in the dirt). All roles are played by lieutenants, so they take turns leading the assault, and following orders. One leads the brief each time. There is a standard format to the briefing on what the mission limitations are, what success will look like, intelligence on the enemy positions, local politics, lay of the land, rules of engagement, casualty evacuation, radio frequency, available support, etc. Instructors keep them all on track. The El Tees all stand around in the cold, some with only eyes showing, each with a small notebook out, jotting down details. When they are done a recce group moves ahead to scout out the objective.

When the recce group returns, the plan is set. The El Tees pretending to be Sergeants, Corporals, and Lance Corporals move silently under-command through the underbrush forming a wide front. The camouflage uniforms make them extremely tough to see them when not in motion.

I trot along behind and in the midst of each attack. Blending in. Not. Drawing live like this, there are obviously limitations as to what you can capture. I have learned not to assume that it is hopeless, and then not even start a sketch. The trick is to just draw. After a bit I find I develop a decent (middling) sense for when a particular Marine will be in one spot for a while, and by just drawing everything I increase my chances of getting something worthwhile down. I waste a lot of paper.

The ensconced enemy in this case is made up of a variety of similar enlisted men and women, or other El Tees. On some assaults there are very few. Sometimes just a sniper. In other cases, an intricate ambush is planned. Every run at the objective is a different set-up. The only constant is the unknowns. Moving among the assaulters and defenders are the instructors acting as referees. It is obvious they take the opportunity to train the young officers as realistically as possible very seriously. It is also obvious that they thoroughly enjoy throwing buckets of wrenches into the assaulter’s plans. Better to drill this into them now, before a platoons lives are really on the line. A trap well-sprung and Marines laying in the dirt all around at MOUT, is a lesson well learned in their eyes.

I am here with three other artists all trying to get in the thick of it, while also keep out of the way. Throughout day one and two we chase the groups through the underbrush. I get caught up in razor wire and slash holes in my pants. Expletives pass my lips. I am aware of my age now. The long-underwear I am sporting is older than these Marines. I no longer attempt to leap one-handed over logs. Not because I don’t think I can make it, but because I’ll look like a complete numpty if I don’t. Oh! my ego.

The days are short out here in January, and the number of warm hours in the day are limited to two or three. And the nights are long. After sleeping outside in sub-zero weather, I find it very hard to shake the cold from my bones all the next day. I have cut flaps in my index-finger and thumb on each glove so I can flip them on and off while drawing. But even with this patented (cut with scissors) brilliance, and hand-warmers inside each glove I still have to return to the car every few hours.

On my first day I used a brush pen and stubbornly stuck with it. Miserable. On day two I switched back to Prismacolor pencils. Happiness returns.

On the morning of day two some of our Marines switch to defense of building drills. Myself, and, the esteemed, Vic Juhasz found an M240 gunner trying to set up and ambush through a murder hole in the wall. It is a great scene, but he just can’t seem to find the correct position, or decide if he is left of right handed. I can tell it is going to be one of those days.

At one point later in the day I am sitting in the middle of the street drawing a wounded casualty during an assault. I figured he probably won’t go far till the assault concludes. Then some hero decides to drag him off.

Later on, and I am just getting a few details of what looks like a promising pose of a defender staring out the window when the door is kicked in behind me, and I am run over as they storm the building. Best to stay alert. This is how the day goes

There can be little doubt that this is not particularly useful training for actual combat artists while operating with active duty troops. I am never likely to sit in the middle of the street, or pop my head out of a window, during a firefight. But the drawing in challenging circumstances is useful training for the brain’s sketching muscles. It is also a great way of producing lots of art (good or bad) in a short period. And fantastic fun.

The main advantage for the Marine Corps Museum’s art program will be the dozens of finished pieces this visit produces for the collection. But we also harbor a long-term goal of instilling artists in the field in the consciousness of the Corps. Will each of these El Tees will remember the atrocious old duffers chasing them around with pencil and sketchpad during their training? With luck they will think back on it and remember that historical documentation with artists on the front lines is not a problem. This is our long game.

On day three the assault changes to a different town. This one is sprawling. Made up of over a hundred buildings. And this one comes with occupants. The citizens are all Marines in civvies who take their thespian activities very seriously. There is a police chief. Sellers of wares. A kid who steals a smoke grenade. There are suspicious characters. There are old people. There are armed and innocent civilians, and armed and dangerous insurgents. There is an IED. And a complex ambush awaits.

Throughout all of the shouting and distraction, the platoon has to remain cohesive and in contact. They have to absorb everything and share it with one-another. The guy on the roof with the cellphone. The guy using a Kalashnikov as a walking stick. The shepherd carrying a dead goat.

It is only when the threat eventually materializes - when shots are fired – when the IED detonates - when the civilians disappear into hiding - when Marines are down in the street, that the challenge and chaos of urban fighting and patrolling becomes fully exposed. The Marines have to use all of their training to assess the threat and neutralize it. This is of course the perfect environment to figure things out. Nobody really gets shot. Nobody actually gets blown up. No civilians get caught in the crossfire. No body bags.

Great working alongside Captain CJ Baumann III, Kris Battles and Vic Juhasz again. 

We are a small contingent of field artists working on behalf of the National Museum of the Marine Corps (NMMC) in Quantico.

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