We walked several more kilometers and ended up in a small village
that the main battle group had just passed through. Jeeps and half-tracks
full of troops were still moving through it.
We walked over to find the command tent and discovered that it had been erected in the enormous crater from a 205mm railway gun.
Sgt. Morgan went ahead into the tent while the rest of our squad stayed outside, enjoying the chance to sit down.
About a half an hour later, Sgt. Morgan emerged. He walked over to where we, then signaled me to come with him.
We were walking towards another tent. "So, what's the deal?" I asked.
"Well, it looks like were going to be resupplied and get some more people in. Things will probably about the same as Schaefer said, we'll just be following the main group through the population centers, but with a twist."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Along with the new people were getting in, we'll also be getting a radioman, and were supposed to respond to any and all distress calls and SOS's that are within our range. Reason seems to be that the Army brass don't seem to think that our squad covering this battalion is a useful idea, so not only will we be protecting our rears, we'll also be a rescue squad, setting up standard ambushes and patrols. So be prepared to move quick and fast. We'll be resupplied with a few new riflemen and another BAR, plus a bazooka will be allocated to our squad.
"That's good. When do we get them?" I asked, idly cleaning the sight on my rifle with my thumbnail.
"You can go and get them now. All the troop trucks are at the north end of town, you can take a jeep to pick them up."
A jeep! For the first time in a very long time, I would be able to ride instead of walking everywhere I went.
I picked up my web gear and slipped it on, then picked up my M-1. I then walked outside the command tent. There were three jeeps there, one with a set of keys in it.
I set my rifle on the seat next to me and fired the engine up. I started the jeep moving, getting used to driving again.
It was only a short drive across town. I ended up in one of the minor dropping off points for troops awaiting reassignments to different units. It was much less of a frenzied pace that some of the others I had been at.
I pulled the jeep up next to some others that were parked and then stood in front of it and called off some names that I had on my list.
"Han, Vogul, Ensign, Plouffee, Oinker, Alemann." I called the names twice as the soldiers gathered around. I did a quick head count and found that they were all there.
It took some doing, but we managed to fit everyone on the jeep. As I pulled back into traffic on my way across the city, I sorted my thoughts on our new soldiers.
There was Private Han, our second BAR gunner. He was fresh out of basic and hadn't even seen combat yet, but from what I heard, his urges to fight and win were as fiery red as his hair.
Vogul carried the radio for our squad. He was young and I thought the glasses he wore made him look like Dilbert. The M-1 Carbine he carried balanced it out though.
Ensign was our bazooka man. He had been allocated to our squad, because no one, including me, had any experience with the heavy weapon, although Stankowitz had claimed rather loudly that he did, we simply weren't ready to trust him with something that could kill the entire squad in one shot. Frankly, he was lucky we trusted him with a rifle.
I wasn't sure what to make of Plouffee. He seemed generally able, but somewhat slack, one of the new breed of soldiers. The name sounded French, but I'm never good with names. He just sat there most of the way, holding onto his rifle and chewing on a wad of gum that I would learn that he was never without.
Oinker reminded me of a pig, not just because of his name, but also in appearance and his dislike for showers. It was a war and there wasn't a lot of time for bathing in the bush, but we were all happy when we had the chance to shower of bathe again. Not Oinker, he made it a point of honour to avoid every cleansing of the body that was available. Everything about the man was dirty, his weapon, his uniform, his sense of humor. I felt a strong sense of disgust when I saw him.
Alemann struck me as one of the weirdest soldiers I would ever know. He kept his rifle as clean as a whistle and soldiered like the best of them, but aside from that, he never showed any enthusiasm whatsoever. He could easily have made Corporal, but he was never willing to learn or put in the effort. I guess leadership was one of those talents that chose people, and not the other way around.
I slowed down as I came back to where our squad was sitting, an abandoned French Café. I pulled over and we all got out.
Sergeant Morgan came over to the new squad members and introduced himself and the rest of the squad. While he did that, I picked up one of the chairs and set it back onto its legs, then dropped onto it.
Ben Doon sat across the table from me. "Do you think they'll make it?" He asked.
I shook my head. "I think a couple have seen combat, but the others…"
Ben Doon nodded. I looked around at the rest of my squad to see how they were holding up. Stankowitz sat alone at his table with a really mad and arrogant look on his face. The bayonet wound on his back was still healing. The pain made him angry and difficult to deal with. I also had thought that the wound had become infected and caused him to develop an overpowering case of assholia. Oh well, I didn't particularly care.
Horn sat at his table, alone as well, sporting a sneer on his face, the new recruits would not enjoy meeting either of them.
Sergeant Morgan finished introducing himself and the squad and then let the new soldiers interact with the remainder of our squad.
Sergeant Morgan pulled me to the side. "Stone, I have a few things for you here." He passed me a small bundle of cloth.
I unwrapped the bundle and discovered a set of Sergeant stripes and a requisition form for an M-1 Carbine.
Elation ran through my body as I looked up at Sgt. Morgan. "No Sergeant, you don't have the same rank as me."
He pulled down the collar of his M41 field jacket and showed me the 'Butter Bars' of a Second Lieutenant.
"Lieutenant Weems was shot and killed by German sniper yesterday. Mine came in while you were gone, and each squad needs a Sergeant. You can take that weapon form over to the Supply Sergeant over there." He said, motioning to a former clothing store across the street.
I took the paper out of the bundle and turned to walk over to the store. "Don't forget your gear, Sergeant!" Lt. Morgan said, throwing me my gear.
I slipped into it and slung my rifle over my arm. A few jeeps full of troops and one or two Sherman tanks passed behind me as I stepped into the Supply
There were a few troops organizing the storage space in the store. I walked up to the counter and set the paper down. The private behind the desk looked at it, then leaned back in his chair and yelled into the back of the shop. "Sergeant, can you come here for a second?"
I waited a second and a grizzled, old Sergeant came out of the back, wiping grease of some sort from his hands.
"What can I do for you, son?" He asked me.
"Well, my Lieutenant gave me this paper and told me to come to you." I explained.
"Well, lets see what we can do." He picked up the paper and looked it over. "Yes, I belief I can get you something like that. Hang on for one second, I haven't unpacked them yet."
He took the paper into the back and rummaged around for about three minutes. I heard grunting and cursing and finally the squeal of nails being pulled free of wood. He came back with an M-1 Carbine in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He set the M-1 down on the desk in front of me, then reached under the counter and set down several magazines of ammunition next to the weapon.
The sleek short design of the rifle immediately caught my eye. On the stock of the weapon was a wraparound pouch that would hold two magazines. It wasn't a Thompson, but it was nice.
I set my Garand on the desk and took the stripper clip pouch belt off my harness and set it on the counter. The Sergeant handed me a new pistol belt with several carbine clip pouches on it.
I reattached the pistol belt to my harness and slid it on. I signed out the new rifle and picked it up off the table. I stuffed all the magazines into the respective pouches and loaded the last one into my new rifle.
I thanked the Sergeant and left the supply. The small weight of the carbine was a welcome change to the standard heavy weight of the Garand.
I walked back to the squad, carbine over my shoulder. I sat down at a table and took out my sewing kit and began sewing on the Sergeant's stripes to the arms of my field jacket. I was quickly done.
I held up the jacket to make sure the stripes were on right. At I brought it back to my lap, I saw Stankowitz staring at me with a mix of rage and jealously. I simply looked back at him with a smug look on my face.
I then checked the carbine, the gun was clean, the bore clear of any dirt or debris common for being picked up in the field. The bolt was slightly gritty, so I gave it a liberal application of gun oil to loosen it up. I pulled the clip out and examined it. Fifteen rounds. I pulled out one of the .30 caliber rounds and studied it. It was short, only slightly longer than an inch and a half. I pushed it back in the clip and replaced it in my rifle.
"Sergeant Stone!"
"Yes sir?" I replied, walking over to Lt. Morgan.
"Got your first duties for you as a Sergeant." He said. "Take this over to Miller, got a battlefield readiness briefing. We will be moving out temporarily."
I took what Morgan was handing me and looked at it. It was a pair of Corporals stripes. I smiled and closed my hand around them.
I walked over where Miller was and sat down at the table with him. "Hey Joe, how're you doing?" I asked.
"Just fine Sarge, Congrats on the promotion." He said.
"Thanks." I smiled, "So, is Stankowitz giving you any trouble?" I asked in a slightly more serious tone.
Miller face turned to a frown. "Well Sarge, he is the most difficult person I have ever had to work with. He's a higher rank then me, but he's supposed to be my assistant. Most of the time it ends up being the other way around. What gets me is that he takes the BAR and then screws up, leaving the squad in a pinch, when I could have done whatever he was trying just fine."
I nodded my head. It was perfectly understandable, the fact was, Stankowitz would probably force his rank onto everybody now that promotions were being handed out and he wouldn't be getting anything.
"Well, here's a chance for you to show what you really can do." I said and set the corporal stripes down on the table.
His eyes grew a little wider as he saw them. He slowly picked them up with his thumb and forefinger and pulled the badges towards him as if he didn't really think that they were his.
I smiled and stood up from the table. "Enjoy, but get ready to move out quickly." I said as I backed away.
"Thank you, Sergeant." He mumbled as he stared at his new badges.
As I walked away, I looked over at Stankowitz who was staring at me with a mix of jealousy and expectancy now, oh well, screw him.
Lt. Morgan would be back any minute. I told all the soldiers to get ready to move out.
As I threw on my gear and made sure my rifle was ready, Stankowitz sauntered over to me and stood there. "Listen Sergeant, I know that I'm not going to be promoted, but can you tell me that you'll consider me next time?"
I tried to hold in my laughter. "I'll see what I can do, but you will want to talk to the Lieutenant about that since it's not my decision."
"Thanks Sergeant, I'll do that." He sauntered off again.
I finished checking my gear as Morgan walked out of one of the tents. He waved me over and I stepped over to where he was.
"We'll be moving immediately. Our guys are encountering some resistance on the north end of the city. We're just going in and spotting for a larger force. Get everyone together and we'll head out." He trailed off as Stankowitz approached us.
"Sir," he whined, "I was just wondering what are my chances of becoming a Sergeant?"
Morgan looked him right in the eye. "Actually, something did cross my desk for you, so to speak. Its not a promotion, but it does have to do with your rank."
"Oh, yeah. What is it, sir?" Asked Stankowitz, slightly more exited than before.
"Well, I would like to christen you, Private Stankowitz. If you could just remove your corporal stripes, I'll get some private ones for you."
"What?!"
"Its quite simple. Your attitude, combined with you incompetence has caught the eye of command. They talked to me and I'm talking to you. Congratulations, Private."
Stankowitz wandered away in a daze. I looked over at Morgan. "A little hard on him, don't you think?"
Morgan shrugged his shoulders, "He was a little hard on the squad, don't you think?"
I shrugged and yelled at the troops to saddle up.
We moved out into the city. Fighting had obviously taken place. Shell craters were everywhere. Fires burned on the roads, consuming building materials and whatever other junk was lying around them.
Lieutenant Morgan navigated from a map that he held in his pocket. The plan was for us to move out of the city, a half a mile out into the country, then move back in behind the Germans.
I looked back at my squad. Stankowitz had hooked up with Oinker as a friend. Most of the new soldiers walked in silence. I didn't think that any of them had been together in a previous squad. I couldn't blame them, the moment they got here, they learned that only Morgan, myself and Miller would be friendly to them, and rank opened a gap between us and the new soldiers.
Ensign and Miller, both being Corporals, had become somewhat friendly. They walked together covering each other's backs.
We moved out of the city without seeing any Germans. We were halfway out into the country on our patrol before we were ambushed.
The grass we were walking through was about waist high. Three Germans popped up out of the grass and started firing. We all dropped and brought our weapons to bear. The three Germans were armed with Kar-98s, if they had MP40s, it would have been more likely we would all be dead in the first volley.
I fired blindly through the grass and heard a cry of pain that told me I had hit one of them. Miller and myself jumped up and flanked them while Morgan laid down some covering fire.
The Germans must have decided that they had bitten off more than they could chew because two of them broke and ran, firing behind them. I quickly aimed and fired three rounds rapidly. One man was cut down. Miller's BAR roared and the other man was sliced down.
We dropped down for cover, not knowing what had happened to the third soldier.
Morgan advanced to the area where we had thought the German would be. We found blood, but no body. We fanned out and searched the areas, he couldn't have gotten far. We found him about twenty yards away from where we thought he would be.
My carbine rounds had hit him in the center of the throat. The man had bled to death before we could find him.
We saddled up and moved out. We came to the outskirts of the city without engaging another German patrol. We held out there for a few minutes and the pushed forward into the city center.
We moved silently and cautiously, on the lookout for snipers and trying to avoid any place that we thought might be mined.
As I stepped down the street, I became aware of a distant rumbling. We all took cover behind the piles of rubble lining the streets. Then, about a hundred yards in front of us, a Tiger tank turned down the road. Its mighty chassis turned towards us and it started moving forwards.
We were well camouflaged. The krauts never saw us. As the tank drew closer, I raised my carbine at the tank commander who was standing out of the turret. He was in full battle dress uniform too, a shame to get blood on it, but a necessary one, nonetheless.
I fired twice. The commander took the rounds in the chest and dropped back into the tank. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, the turret swiveling to take a shot at us.
We all broke and ran as the gun came around. The gun fired, with a giant explosion, a huge section of the wall next to be disappeared. I felt the compression slam into me, along with dozens of pieces of shrapnel.
I was lifted into the air and slammed back down onto the cobblestone street. My ears rang, I was dimly aware of several pinpoints of pain along my back.
Ben Doon ran to me and lifted me up by my webbing. We ran to the side of the tank, trying to avoid another shelling from its gun.
I ripped a grenade from my webbing and threw it on top of the tank, not really trying to hurt the tank as much as faze the crew inside.
The grenade exploded and the tank stopped. I had a hair-raising moment where I thought the grenade had actually disabled the Tiger.
The hatch on top opened up and a German soldier stood up, holding an STG-44, burning down his magazine at us. Both Han and Miller let loose bursts of fire, putting the German back inside the tank, this time leaking.
We all backed off and Ensign fired his bazooka into the Tiger. The rocket smashed into the tank and burrowed itself in the armor, but couldn't penetrate. "Load!" yelled Ensign.
Stankowitz moved forward, withdrawing another rocket from his gear. I held my breath as he loaded the rocket into the tube. Amazingly he managed to get it in right and ready it to fire without endangering the squad.
Ensign took aim and fired a second time. The rocket came out of the tube and lodged itself in the track that allowed the turret to spin. We displaced and loaded the tube for another go.
As we watched, the tank sat there, then we heard the straining of the motors as the tank tried to move its turret around to target us. Finally the crew tired to move the entire tank to shoot at us, but the clumsy weapon gave us ample time to move out of the way before it fired.
Finally, the tank driver must have given up. The tank turned and drove away, not caring about the soldiers behind it.
I became aware of a slight buzzing sound; we all turned and watched as a Hawker Hurricane dropped from the clouds. Its .303 guns fired and kicked up dust around the tank and its treads. Rounds pinged off its armored hide.
As the aircraft rolled over, two bombs detached from its belly and hit dead center on the tank. Explosions blossomed over the tank and smashed it to dust. We all dived for cover as twisted pieces of metal shot overhead. The noise must have been incredible, but I couldn't hear. The compression waves slammed through my chest, making it difficult to breath.
I was hunkered down behind a large piece of brick and mortar. I wanted nothing more that to lie there until my hearing returned, but in front of my eyes I watched as a group of SS troops came to find out what all the noise was about. We opened fire on sight.
We walked over to find the command tent and discovered that it had been erected in the enormous crater from a 205mm railway gun.
Sgt. Morgan went ahead into the tent while the rest of our squad stayed outside, enjoying the chance to sit down.
About a half an hour later, Sgt. Morgan emerged. He walked over to where we, then signaled me to come with him.
We were walking towards another tent. "So, what's the deal?" I asked.
"Well, it looks like were going to be resupplied and get some more people in. Things will probably about the same as Schaefer said, we'll just be following the main group through the population centers, but with a twist."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Along with the new people were getting in, we'll also be getting a radioman, and were supposed to respond to any and all distress calls and SOS's that are within our range. Reason seems to be that the Army brass don't seem to think that our squad covering this battalion is a useful idea, so not only will we be protecting our rears, we'll also be a rescue squad, setting up standard ambushes and patrols. So be prepared to move quick and fast. We'll be resupplied with a few new riflemen and another BAR, plus a bazooka will be allocated to our squad.
"That's good. When do we get them?" I asked, idly cleaning the sight on my rifle with my thumbnail.
"You can go and get them now. All the troop trucks are at the north end of town, you can take a jeep to pick them up."
A jeep! For the first time in a very long time, I would be able to ride instead of walking everywhere I went.
I picked up my web gear and slipped it on, then picked up my M-1. I then walked outside the command tent. There were three jeeps there, one with a set of keys in it.
I set my rifle on the seat next to me and fired the engine up. I started the jeep moving, getting used to driving again.
It was only a short drive across town. I ended up in one of the minor dropping off points for troops awaiting reassignments to different units. It was much less of a frenzied pace that some of the others I had been at.
I pulled the jeep up next to some others that were parked and then stood in front of it and called off some names that I had on my list.
"Han, Vogul, Ensign, Plouffee, Oinker, Alemann." I called the names twice as the soldiers gathered around. I did a quick head count and found that they were all there.
It took some doing, but we managed to fit everyone on the jeep. As I pulled back into traffic on my way across the city, I sorted my thoughts on our new soldiers.
There was Private Han, our second BAR gunner. He was fresh out of basic and hadn't even seen combat yet, but from what I heard, his urges to fight and win were as fiery red as his hair.
Vogul carried the radio for our squad. He was young and I thought the glasses he wore made him look like Dilbert. The M-1 Carbine he carried balanced it out though.
Ensign was our bazooka man. He had been allocated to our squad, because no one, including me, had any experience with the heavy weapon, although Stankowitz had claimed rather loudly that he did, we simply weren't ready to trust him with something that could kill the entire squad in one shot. Frankly, he was lucky we trusted him with a rifle.
I wasn't sure what to make of Plouffee. He seemed generally able, but somewhat slack, one of the new breed of soldiers. The name sounded French, but I'm never good with names. He just sat there most of the way, holding onto his rifle and chewing on a wad of gum that I would learn that he was never without.
Oinker reminded me of a pig, not just because of his name, but also in appearance and his dislike for showers. It was a war and there wasn't a lot of time for bathing in the bush, but we were all happy when we had the chance to shower of bathe again. Not Oinker, he made it a point of honour to avoid every cleansing of the body that was available. Everything about the man was dirty, his weapon, his uniform, his sense of humor. I felt a strong sense of disgust when I saw him.
Alemann struck me as one of the weirdest soldiers I would ever know. He kept his rifle as clean as a whistle and soldiered like the best of them, but aside from that, he never showed any enthusiasm whatsoever. He could easily have made Corporal, but he was never willing to learn or put in the effort. I guess leadership was one of those talents that chose people, and not the other way around.
I slowed down as I came back to where our squad was sitting, an abandoned French Café. I pulled over and we all got out.
Sergeant Morgan came over to the new squad members and introduced himself and the rest of the squad. While he did that, I picked up one of the chairs and set it back onto its legs, then dropped onto it.
Ben Doon sat across the table from me. "Do you think they'll make it?" He asked.
I shook my head. "I think a couple have seen combat, but the others…"
Ben Doon nodded. I looked around at the rest of my squad to see how they were holding up. Stankowitz sat alone at his table with a really mad and arrogant look on his face. The bayonet wound on his back was still healing. The pain made him angry and difficult to deal with. I also had thought that the wound had become infected and caused him to develop an overpowering case of assholia. Oh well, I didn't particularly care.
Horn sat at his table, alone as well, sporting a sneer on his face, the new recruits would not enjoy meeting either of them.
Sergeant Morgan finished introducing himself and the squad and then let the new soldiers interact with the remainder of our squad.
Sergeant Morgan pulled me to the side. "Stone, I have a few things for you here." He passed me a small bundle of cloth.
I unwrapped the bundle and discovered a set of Sergeant stripes and a requisition form for an M-1 Carbine.
Elation ran through my body as I looked up at Sgt. Morgan. "No Sergeant, you don't have the same rank as me."
He pulled down the collar of his M41 field jacket and showed me the 'Butter Bars' of a Second Lieutenant.
"Lieutenant Weems was shot and killed by German sniper yesterday. Mine came in while you were gone, and each squad needs a Sergeant. You can take that weapon form over to the Supply Sergeant over there." He said, motioning to a former clothing store across the street.
I took the paper out of the bundle and turned to walk over to the store. "Don't forget your gear, Sergeant!" Lt. Morgan said, throwing me my gear.
I slipped into it and slung my rifle over my arm. A few jeeps full of troops and one or two Sherman tanks passed behind me as I stepped into the Supply
There were a few troops organizing the storage space in the store. I walked up to the counter and set the paper down. The private behind the desk looked at it, then leaned back in his chair and yelled into the back of the shop. "Sergeant, can you come here for a second?"
I waited a second and a grizzled, old Sergeant came out of the back, wiping grease of some sort from his hands.
"What can I do for you, son?" He asked me.
"Well, my Lieutenant gave me this paper and told me to come to you." I explained.
"Well, lets see what we can do." He picked up the paper and looked it over. "Yes, I belief I can get you something like that. Hang on for one second, I haven't unpacked them yet."
He took the paper into the back and rummaged around for about three minutes. I heard grunting and cursing and finally the squeal of nails being pulled free of wood. He came back with an M-1 Carbine in one hand and a crowbar in the other. He set the M-1 down on the desk in front of me, then reached under the counter and set down several magazines of ammunition next to the weapon.
The sleek short design of the rifle immediately caught my eye. On the stock of the weapon was a wraparound pouch that would hold two magazines. It wasn't a Thompson, but it was nice.
I set my Garand on the desk and took the stripper clip pouch belt off my harness and set it on the counter. The Sergeant handed me a new pistol belt with several carbine clip pouches on it.
I reattached the pistol belt to my harness and slid it on. I signed out the new rifle and picked it up off the table. I stuffed all the magazines into the respective pouches and loaded the last one into my new rifle.
I thanked the Sergeant and left the supply. The small weight of the carbine was a welcome change to the standard heavy weight of the Garand.
I walked back to the squad, carbine over my shoulder. I sat down at a table and took out my sewing kit and began sewing on the Sergeant's stripes to the arms of my field jacket. I was quickly done.
I held up the jacket to make sure the stripes were on right. At I brought it back to my lap, I saw Stankowitz staring at me with a mix of rage and jealously. I simply looked back at him with a smug look on my face.
I then checked the carbine, the gun was clean, the bore clear of any dirt or debris common for being picked up in the field. The bolt was slightly gritty, so I gave it a liberal application of gun oil to loosen it up. I pulled the clip out and examined it. Fifteen rounds. I pulled out one of the .30 caliber rounds and studied it. It was short, only slightly longer than an inch and a half. I pushed it back in the clip and replaced it in my rifle.
"Sergeant Stone!"
"Yes sir?" I replied, walking over to Lt. Morgan.
"Got your first duties for you as a Sergeant." He said. "Take this over to Miller, got a battlefield readiness briefing. We will be moving out temporarily."
I took what Morgan was handing me and looked at it. It was a pair of Corporals stripes. I smiled and closed my hand around them.
I walked over where Miller was and sat down at the table with him. "Hey Joe, how're you doing?" I asked.
"Just fine Sarge, Congrats on the promotion." He said.
"Thanks." I smiled, "So, is Stankowitz giving you any trouble?" I asked in a slightly more serious tone.
Miller face turned to a frown. "Well Sarge, he is the most difficult person I have ever had to work with. He's a higher rank then me, but he's supposed to be my assistant. Most of the time it ends up being the other way around. What gets me is that he takes the BAR and then screws up, leaving the squad in a pinch, when I could have done whatever he was trying just fine."
I nodded my head. It was perfectly understandable, the fact was, Stankowitz would probably force his rank onto everybody now that promotions were being handed out and he wouldn't be getting anything.
"Well, here's a chance for you to show what you really can do." I said and set the corporal stripes down on the table.
His eyes grew a little wider as he saw them. He slowly picked them up with his thumb and forefinger and pulled the badges towards him as if he didn't really think that they were his.
I smiled and stood up from the table. "Enjoy, but get ready to move out quickly." I said as I backed away.
"Thank you, Sergeant." He mumbled as he stared at his new badges.
As I walked away, I looked over at Stankowitz who was staring at me with a mix of jealousy and expectancy now, oh well, screw him.
Lt. Morgan would be back any minute. I told all the soldiers to get ready to move out.
As I threw on my gear and made sure my rifle was ready, Stankowitz sauntered over to me and stood there. "Listen Sergeant, I know that I'm not going to be promoted, but can you tell me that you'll consider me next time?"
I tried to hold in my laughter. "I'll see what I can do, but you will want to talk to the Lieutenant about that since it's not my decision."
"Thanks Sergeant, I'll do that." He sauntered off again.
I finished checking my gear as Morgan walked out of one of the tents. He waved me over and I stepped over to where he was.
"We'll be moving immediately. Our guys are encountering some resistance on the north end of the city. We're just going in and spotting for a larger force. Get everyone together and we'll head out." He trailed off as Stankowitz approached us.
"Sir," he whined, "I was just wondering what are my chances of becoming a Sergeant?"
Morgan looked him right in the eye. "Actually, something did cross my desk for you, so to speak. Its not a promotion, but it does have to do with your rank."
"Oh, yeah. What is it, sir?" Asked Stankowitz, slightly more exited than before.
"Well, I would like to christen you, Private Stankowitz. If you could just remove your corporal stripes, I'll get some private ones for you."
"What?!"
"Its quite simple. Your attitude, combined with you incompetence has caught the eye of command. They talked to me and I'm talking to you. Congratulations, Private."
Stankowitz wandered away in a daze. I looked over at Morgan. "A little hard on him, don't you think?"
Morgan shrugged his shoulders, "He was a little hard on the squad, don't you think?"
I shrugged and yelled at the troops to saddle up.
We moved out into the city. Fighting had obviously taken place. Shell craters were everywhere. Fires burned on the roads, consuming building materials and whatever other junk was lying around them.
Lieutenant Morgan navigated from a map that he held in his pocket. The plan was for us to move out of the city, a half a mile out into the country, then move back in behind the Germans.
I looked back at my squad. Stankowitz had hooked up with Oinker as a friend. Most of the new soldiers walked in silence. I didn't think that any of them had been together in a previous squad. I couldn't blame them, the moment they got here, they learned that only Morgan, myself and Miller would be friendly to them, and rank opened a gap between us and the new soldiers.
Ensign and Miller, both being Corporals, had become somewhat friendly. They walked together covering each other's backs.
We moved out of the city without seeing any Germans. We were halfway out into the country on our patrol before we were ambushed.
The grass we were walking through was about waist high. Three Germans popped up out of the grass and started firing. We all dropped and brought our weapons to bear. The three Germans were armed with Kar-98s, if they had MP40s, it would have been more likely we would all be dead in the first volley.
I fired blindly through the grass and heard a cry of pain that told me I had hit one of them. Miller and myself jumped up and flanked them while Morgan laid down some covering fire.
The Germans must have decided that they had bitten off more than they could chew because two of them broke and ran, firing behind them. I quickly aimed and fired three rounds rapidly. One man was cut down. Miller's BAR roared and the other man was sliced down.
We dropped down for cover, not knowing what had happened to the third soldier.
Morgan advanced to the area where we had thought the German would be. We found blood, but no body. We fanned out and searched the areas, he couldn't have gotten far. We found him about twenty yards away from where we thought he would be.
My carbine rounds had hit him in the center of the throat. The man had bled to death before we could find him.
We saddled up and moved out. We came to the outskirts of the city without engaging another German patrol. We held out there for a few minutes and the pushed forward into the city center.
We moved silently and cautiously, on the lookout for snipers and trying to avoid any place that we thought might be mined.
As I stepped down the street, I became aware of a distant rumbling. We all took cover behind the piles of rubble lining the streets. Then, about a hundred yards in front of us, a Tiger tank turned down the road. Its mighty chassis turned towards us and it started moving forwards.
We were well camouflaged. The krauts never saw us. As the tank drew closer, I raised my carbine at the tank commander who was standing out of the turret. He was in full battle dress uniform too, a shame to get blood on it, but a necessary one, nonetheless.
I fired twice. The commander took the rounds in the chest and dropped back into the tank. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, the turret swiveling to take a shot at us.
We all broke and ran as the gun came around. The gun fired, with a giant explosion, a huge section of the wall next to be disappeared. I felt the compression slam into me, along with dozens of pieces of shrapnel.
I was lifted into the air and slammed back down onto the cobblestone street. My ears rang, I was dimly aware of several pinpoints of pain along my back.
Ben Doon ran to me and lifted me up by my webbing. We ran to the side of the tank, trying to avoid another shelling from its gun.
I ripped a grenade from my webbing and threw it on top of the tank, not really trying to hurt the tank as much as faze the crew inside.
The grenade exploded and the tank stopped. I had a hair-raising moment where I thought the grenade had actually disabled the Tiger.
The hatch on top opened up and a German soldier stood up, holding an STG-44, burning down his magazine at us. Both Han and Miller let loose bursts of fire, putting the German back inside the tank, this time leaking.
We all backed off and Ensign fired his bazooka into the Tiger. The rocket smashed into the tank and burrowed itself in the armor, but couldn't penetrate. "Load!" yelled Ensign.
Stankowitz moved forward, withdrawing another rocket from his gear. I held my breath as he loaded the rocket into the tube. Amazingly he managed to get it in right and ready it to fire without endangering the squad.
Ensign took aim and fired a second time. The rocket came out of the tube and lodged itself in the track that allowed the turret to spin. We displaced and loaded the tube for another go.
As we watched, the tank sat there, then we heard the straining of the motors as the tank tried to move its turret around to target us. Finally the crew tired to move the entire tank to shoot at us, but the clumsy weapon gave us ample time to move out of the way before it fired.
Finally, the tank driver must have given up. The tank turned and drove away, not caring about the soldiers behind it.
I became aware of a slight buzzing sound; we all turned and watched as a Hawker Hurricane dropped from the clouds. Its .303 guns fired and kicked up dust around the tank and its treads. Rounds pinged off its armored hide.
As the aircraft rolled over, two bombs detached from its belly and hit dead center on the tank. Explosions blossomed over the tank and smashed it to dust. We all dived for cover as twisted pieces of metal shot overhead. The noise must have been incredible, but I couldn't hear. The compression waves slammed through my chest, making it difficult to breath.
I was hunkered down behind a large piece of brick and mortar. I wanted nothing more that to lie there until my hearing returned, but in front of my eyes I watched as a group of SS troops came to find out what all the noise was about. We opened fire on sight.