EDINBURGH - Sgt. Chris Reifsteck lies in the dusty gravel, his legs splayed, his eyes squinting through the sight of a .50-caliber M-2 machine gun.  He pushes the trigger, and the buzz of cicadas is drowned by the boom-boom-bang! of gun blasts. Spent shell casings clatter onto a pile, and bullets rip into a paper target 10 yards away, hitting one of the rows of tiny two-dimensional tombstones, which represent the size of a tank 500 yards in the distance.

Shooting the two-man weapon is just one of the tasks Reifsteck, of Bluffton, and the rest of the soldiers of the 113th Support Battalion must complete at Camp Atterbury Joint Maneuver Training Center before they are deployed overseas in support of Operation Enduring Freedom.

The 1,100 Army National Guard soldiers from throughout Indiana - including more than 50 from Fort Wayne - are spending their last few weeks in the United States at Atterbury, a 33,000-acre training camp about 30 miles south of Indianapolis. They are meeting new comrades, memorizing facts about the enemy and mastering tasks such as land navigation and first aid.

Last week, The Journal Gazette obtained limited behind-the-scenes access at Atterbury, watching the soldiers train and learning their thoughts about a mission that could last 18 months.   The majority of National Guard troops being deployed are sent to one of two theaters: Iraq or Afghanistan. Both are dusty deserts, populated with undercover enemies who launch surprise attacks.

The soldiers know where they're headed, but the mission is officially classified.

And at Atterbury - a mass of low white barracks and wide-open fields, with barbed wire, camouflaged tanks and soldiers standing in sharp formation - the troops are getting ready for war.   "Everybody's got their job to do. That's why they send them out here," said Sgt. 1st Class Joseph Middeler, gesturing at the firing range, miles up a gravel road from the main cluster of buildings.

A red flag, rippling in the wind, indicates the range is in use. The swath of green beyond the paper targets resembles a golf driving range, but beat-up, rusted tanks serve as targets rather than flags and yard markers.   "It's kind of like a football team with a halfback, quarterback, line tackles," Sgt. David Garrison said. "One can't operate without the other."   About 30 members of the 113th are at the range, firing the M-2 machine gun, known as a Ma-Deuce. They shoot in pairs, but spend the majority of the day waiting and watching their comrades blast the guns.

The mobilization process for the 113th, as well as the soldiers they will be sent overseas with - the 1st Battalion, 151st Infantry based in New Albany and the headquarters of the 76th Brigade based in Indianapolis - began May 4. It will continue for no one knows how long, until myriad tasks are mastered.   Atterbury has trained about 33,000 soldiers in the past year, public information officer Maj. Mike Brady said. Their average stay is 30 days.   But any day could be the last day.

"The day that they tell me to put my stuff on a plane, I'm going to be ready to fly," said Reifsteck, who is leaving behind his wife of 10 months, Laurie, who is expecting a child in October.   Reifsteck, a full-time National Guardsman based in Fort Wayne, has been in the Guard for a dozen years and was deployed to Bosnia in 2002, so he's used to the uncertainty, he said. But for Laurie, it's tough. He hopes to receive a pass home before he leaves for overseas.

Still, Reifsteck said, it's a relief to know when and where he's going, rather than having to wait for orders.   He's standing under a metal roof, the only shade near the firing range, explaining the composition of the 113th Battalion.   The support battalion, comprising truck drivers, medics and maintenance workers, is based in Columbus. Its Alpha Company has detachments in Evansville and Fort Wayne.   The Fort Wayne detachment is mainly made up of young soldiers who have not yet graduated from basic or advanced individual training, so only a handful of the 30-some Fort Wayne members have been mobilized.

An additional 50-some members of the 1st Battalion, 293rd Infantry based in Fort Wayne are also being deployed. Most of the 1-293rd soldiers at Atterbury are new recruits and some are soldiers who didn't have the necessary qualifications to deploy with the rest of the battalion in November 2002. Now, they are filling the ranks of other National Guard units.

Throughout the camp - which resembles a summer camp, but with barbed wire and guns instead of wood fences and fishing poles - soldiers are getting ready for deployment.   At the range, members of the 113th slouch on metal bleachers, gab and take smoke breaks. They wear bullet-proof vests and heavy Kevlar helmets when they leave the metal-roofed shelter.   Sgt. Harry Seip, 38, of Monroeville, stood in the sun watching plumes of smoke escape from the machine guns. He said he is gung-ho about his deployment.

Seip, who is married and has two children, said he was ready to leave before he was called, mainly because he wants the experience and the war stories for his grandkids.   "I'm more excited than anything, and my wife's right behind me," he said. "I'd rather spend 18 months overseas doing a job that will protect my family and other families."   His comrade, Sgt. Shaun Crook, 32, ended his active duty - in which he was never deployed - in December and joined the 113th in Fort Wayne in January. He's happy to leave, he said, and his wife, Tameka, understands.

"She's been around for a while. She knows it doesn't matter if you're active duty, Reserves or Guard," Crook said. "You know you're going to get deployed."   Wearing a long-sleeved, dark-green camouflaged uniform in the 80-degree heat, Crook is jovial, nonchalant.   Last year, the 113th was mobilized for three months but was never deployed. But that period prepared the soldiers and cultivated comradeship. The men and women are obviously comfortable with each other, joking and teasing and calling each other by nicknames.

"They knew what to expect," Alpha Company commander Capt. Doug Downs said. "They worked out a lot of the emotional aspects last year."   So far, since Sept. 11, 2001, the Indiana Guard has deployed more than 5,400 Army and 1,000 Air National Guard soldiers to fight the global war on terrorism, public affairs officer Capt. Lisa Kopczynski said.

That is more Guard troops deployed than at any time since World War II, emphasizing the importance of the civilian-soldiers in the war on terror.   "Historically, it's been hard for the Guard," Downs said. "It's like training for the big game and finally getting to play."   But the soldiers at Atterbury aren't playing yet.   "It's a lot of long days, . . . trying to jump through hoops and then sit down and wait," Reifsteck said.

He and the troops haven't had a day off since they arrived.   They awoke about 5 a.m. Monday for physical training and were at the range by 6:30 a.m. They planned to stay until about 10 p.m., so they could practice shooting at tanks in the dark.   "It's part of the preparation, because when you're overseas, you don't get a day off," Reifsteck said. "You get downtime, but you're preparing for the next day, the next mission."   The majority of the day is spent waiting; waiting for a chance to fire, waiting for a chance to progress to the next range, waiting until lunchtime to rip open the brown packages of their Meals Ready to Eat and spoon into a bag of beef teriyaki.   "Hurry up and wait" is one of the many mottos the soldiers toss around.

They are upbeat, relaxed and laid-back, ignoring the booms and bangs. They don't bring books, though some of them wished they did. They don't bring much - just their bulletproof vests, their Camelback water packs, their cigarettes and their cellphones.   And they sit around and jawbone.   "Waiting is the worst," said Spc. Jeff Truhn, 33, of Logansport, who works at the Fort Wayne Airport. "This is kind of a trial period, the separation period we're going through."

Spc. Stephanie Hartman, 21, of Evansville, rips open her MRE - a prepackaged meal meant for the field that has a shelf life of 11 years. Hartman's hands are feminine, with engagement and wedding rings on her left ring finger and a thin silver band on her right thumb. She wears eye shadow, and she sits with her right leg crossed over her left.   "Here goes nothing, guys," she said to no one in particular, about her meal. It's not too bad, she said. It just needs more flavor. So she rips open the condiment packet with her teeth and adds Tabasco to the beef burrito.

Soon, she and four other women don their vests and meander across the gravel road to take a smoke break.   Away from the men and the public information officer who accompanies any news representative on site, they are candid.   They sit on their Kevlar helmets and on the ground, talking, complaining and joking. They signed up for the Guard to pay for college, they said, not to go to war.   "I knew it could happen, but I never thought it would," said Spc. Nikki Grostefon, 24, whom the women call "Grody."   "I thought it was peachy."

She, like the others, joined up shortly before Sept. 11.   "They've got it out for us," Shanna "Rody" Rodenberg, 27, of Evansville, said about the enemy. "You have days when you don't want to go."   Grostefon added, "You just want to get it over with and get back home."   The female soldiers, though seemingly more honest than their male counterparts, are still stalwart, accepting of the mission they face.   With their cigarettes done, the complaints fade, too.   The women help each other up, dust themselves off and head back to the bleachers to get in line and wait, again, for their turn to fire.

Then Hartman is up. She's prone on the ground, in front of the massive M-2.   She fires.   It's only weeks before she could be firing at real targets. (By Laura Johnston The Journal Gazette)

May 24, 2004 - Thomas Spent 22 Months As Prisoner Of War.  Of the 46 months (three years, 10 months and 12 days) Galen Thomas was a World War II Army soldier, nearly half that time – 22 months – was spent as a prisoner of war, a captive of the Germans.   Weighing in at a respectable 195 pounds prior to his capture in North Africa, he was rescued with 132 pounds on his frame.

A rifleman in Company L, 168th Combat Regiment, 34th Division, Thomas fought in Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia against Germany’s Afrika Korps, led by Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.

Now 84, he remembers the 110- to 115-degree days spent in the desert.  He was among the 2,007 Americans listed as missing in action during the February 1943 battles. He was 23 at the time.

“We were flown to Italy,” said Thomas at his home in West Haven Estates. “We were on an airplane made of corrugated tin.”   Flying across the Mediterranean Sea, Thomas looked down to see two English destroyers with their antiaircraft guns pointing up.   “All I could see was ‘ak-ak’ out the window. Of course they didn’t know there were Allied prisoners aboard that plane.

“In Italy, they walked us down the streets. The Italians came out and threatened us with butcher knives. They took horse manure and whacked us in the face with it.   “We were in Italy two or three weeks. All they give us to eat was cauliflower juice. It looked like black ink.”

Two men in Thomas’ outfit were killed outright.  “Somebody told the German guards they were Jewish. They just walked up and shot them in the head. I don’t think I ever told on anybody. Some people would tell anything to get themselves out of trouble.”

The prisoners were trucked to Munich and through Berlin, finally arriving at a farm camp in northern Poland.  “All we done was work,” he said of his captivity. “We raised 3,000 acres of potatoes, planted them and harvested them by hand. We also grew wheat and rye. The wheat was cut by hand and thrashed by hand. I got a hernia from hefting those 80-pound bales.”

The grain was stored in 150-pound sacks. The prisoners were expected to haul them up 32 steps to the loft of a barn.  “I was so tired, so weak, I could hardly make it to the top.  “School kids would pick up potatoes. Some of them saved potatoes to make schnapps. I tasted it once,” he said, making a face. “Too hot.”

Although he advised the Germans he was a butcher, someone else told the guards he was a farmer.  He was given a team of colts to train as a wagon team, although they had minds of their own, running away once and kicking at every opportunity.  One bit him by the eye and Thomas didn’t think it would ever stop bleeding.

“They would push you,” Thomas said in answer to questions of abuse. “I was raking hay one day and an old German told me to do it another way. I tried and I couldn’t do it very good. He took that rake and hit me right across the back. I gave him a big cuss word and told him I’d kill him if he ever hit me again. He never did.”

Red Cross food packages for POWs never made it to the farm where Thomas was held. In addition to potatoes, the prisoners were given eggs to eat and little else.  “One day there was a chicken (embryo) inside an egg. I just raked it out and ate it anyway.”

The POWs were ordered to build barracks for German soldiers at one point. “Somehow” too much water was added to the cement mix.  “They started accusing us of sabotage and stuck .45s up to our heads. No one admitted to sabotage. I though they’d pull the trigger at any time.  “When we lined up to go to work, they wanted us to say, ‘Heil, Hitler.’ I wouldn’t say it. They could go on and kill me, but I wouldn’t say it.”

Near the end of the war, a group of 500 prisoners were marched to Hamburg. “They walked us for weeks. It was below zero and my feet froze. I took off my boots once and my feet swelled up so much I never took them off no more.  “We were outside of Hamburg when the Americans arrived.  “They were taking us to a fertilizer plant to gas us. They were going to make fertilizer out of us.”

The Germans decided to give up the POWs, but not without making a statement. The Germans had a machine gun nest on one side of the street; Americans and comparative safety on the other. The POWs were expected to run for freedom.  “There were dead guys (soldiers who hadn’t made it across the street) piled this high,” Thomas said holding a level hand about three feet off the floor. “I used them as a shield to get back in American hands.”

His first meal was half a chicken and it was so good he went back for another half, getting sick immediately.  “All I got to eat after that was egg nog because I was so malnourished. My heart beat so hard the Army cot would shake. That’s how near dead I was, I guess.”

The trip back across the Atlantic took two weeks.  “I saw the Statue of Liberty and knew I was home. I got out and kissed the ground. I don’t know how we made it.

“Camp Atterbury (Indianapolis) is where I was discharged (Aug. 27, 1945) and where I got the maddest.

There were German prisoners of war held in the state capital and they were expected to work, too.  “The German prisoners were cooking for us. I told one I wanted two pieces of bread and he said, ‘No,’ just liked he owned the place.”  Thomas was aghast when he saw American girls bring cakes and other treats to the German compound.  “I never saw any cakes when I was a prisoner. Those girls were crying to get the cakes to the Germans, it was awful!”

Thomas has never wanted to go back to Germany, although he has a German-born brother-in-law.  He is the recipient of two Bronze Stars and worked at Dalton Foundry 28 years. He’s been a widower since October 2002. (BY TERESA SMITH, Times-Union Staff Writer)