The Radioman
June 13, D-Day + 7
"The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living."
Rifle and cannon fire that once echoed in the distance in Carentan was now cracking like thunder as Able Company and elements of the 2nd Armored Division moved into the city. Able Company was rushing in behind the tanks, anxious to push through the city to rescue the overwhelmed paratroopers of Fox Company.
During the run, MacKay's communication sergeant heard the ringing of his radio backpack on his back and picked up the handset and heard the plea coming from the other line of the radio.
"Able Six, Able Six. This is Fox Six, over!"
The radioman replied, "Copy, Fox Six. Standby for Able Six, over."
The radioman handed the Captain the handset, telling him, "Sir, its Fox Company on the horn."
The Captain grabbed the phone from his personal radioman and answered it.
"Able Six, we have fallen back to the church. The Krauts are right on top of us! We need assistance now!"
"Hang tight, Fox. We're almost at your location, over!" MacKay shouted back. He turned to his radioman, "Middlebrook, switch to Sergeant Wilcox, now!"
While still keeping his stride, Middlebrook reached over his shoulder and switched the dial frequencies on his radio to match up with the lead tank commander's radio. He gave the Captain the thumbs up.
T/4 Gabriel Middlebrook, from Washington, DC, went by the name of "Fats". One glance at the man and one would hardly think that he was a radioman, or even a soldier. At the age of 20, he was a very husky young man who wore glasses that were a size too small for his chubby face which precariously hung on his Roman nose; he had thin jet black hair and stood well above six feet.
Before he was drafted, Fats worked with his father who was a radio commentator for the Washington Senators. Fats remembered how after every game, his father would call over his husky son and tell him all about the functions of the radio. Such experience gave him confidence to be a radioman, to flip dials on his radio to reach Battalion HQ, to remember radio jargon, codes, ordinances, and even the exhaustive process of map reading.
Though he was always picked on for his weight, especially in the hell that was boot camp, he was still able to keep up with the most fit of those by his side, albeit barely. He was the biggest person around, but it was undisputed that he held the biggest heart. He knew no one would ever give him anything on his appearance, so he had to work twice as hard to get the same ounce of respect from those around him.
He started showing his fellow soldiers his quality when he used the standard Army radio, SCR-300 backpack radio, and listened in on a couple officers using the radio to illicitly flirt with several audacious English women. Knowing of the officers' rendezvous point with the English girls, Fats and several men from Able went to the location an hour early and stole the dates away from the officers without them even knowing. Once word got back to MacKay, he made Fats his personal radioman. Middlebrook had forgotten which one of his comrades bestowed the name, "Fats" on him, but now he viewed the name as an affectionate appellation of brotherhood.
"Sergeant Wilcox, this is Captain MacKay. Fox Company cannot hold! Speed on ahead and help them out!"
"Roger, Shermans moving out, full throttle!" the tank commander said.
The five heavy engines roared with ferocity as they geared into their max speed, leaving Able Company in the dust. Upon reaching the outskirts of Carentan, the five tanks broke away; two tanks flanking to the left, two flanking to the right, and the sole tank heading up in the center.
It was a basic town enveloping maneuver. The smaller force would hit the middle where the greatest pocket of resistance was expected; while the two stronger flanking forces would move out on the opposite flanks and envelop the enemy and completely destroy them. MacKay called the play into action. 1st platoon, led by 2nd Lieutenant Ralph O'Leary, would attack on the left. 3rd Platoon, led by Technical Sergeant Lloyd Crane would attack on the right. Since 2nd platoon was the weakest after suffering too many casualties from D-Day, they would be held in reserve. MacKay himself would take direct control of Weapons Platoon and would attack in the center.
MacKay gave Middlebrook the nod. The radioman took the handset and systematically fixed the radio to each platoon leader's radioman and gave them the command from the CO. "Break off behind the tanks and keep moving. The mission is to rescue Fox Company." The company of 72 men splintered off into their given sectors, catching up to the tanks that now ventured through the war-torn, debris-filled streets of the near lifeless town.
"Attention Fox Company, this Able Company entering Carentan from the West. We've brought some armor from the beaches!"
Weapons platoon lurched behind the braking Sherman, finally having eyes on the enemy. In front of them was the 17th SS Panzergrenadier Division, advancing towards a large church in a skirmish formation. They used everything they had; rifles, machine pistols, machineguns, mortars, rockets, and even medium tanks to blast out the stubborn paratroopers who were holding up in the church. Several men of Fox Company were hiding behind sandbags along the church, daring not to raise their heads if they wanted to lose it. Able went into action.
MacKay turned to the mortar section, "Jelenic! Get your mortar crews deployed and rain fire on the Germans!"
Corporal Jelenic shouted at his boys to deploy their 60mm mortars and within moments of setting up and establishing ranges, the mortars were coughing out shells upon the ranks of Germans.
MacKay waved his hands in the air, "Move forward!"
The rest of the Weapons Platoon ran forward to the church, firing their weapons as they ran. The lone Sherman tank lurched forward, firing its cannon over the heads of the suppressed paratroopers, and even causing a medium tank, a Stug IV, to burst into flames. The paratroopers turned around and cheered at the sight of reinforcements.
"Shermans! We got Shermans!"
"Yahoo! Able has arrived!"
"C'mon boys, we got tanks! Let's rip Jerry a new one!"
MacKay, Sergeant Conti, and Fats ran up behind a wall of sandbags and hooked up with the CO of Fox Company, Lieutenant Heywood and his Platoon Sergeant, Tates.
"I'm Captain MacKay, Able Company, this is First Sergeant Conti beside me." he announced.
"Lieutenant Heywood, Fox Company, 506th. This here is Sergeant Tates." The lieutenant nodded, "By God are we glad you boys showed up."
"Yeah, we were afraid that you regular army lost your party invitations," Tates added on with a smirk.
"Well ya know, we were held up on the beach," Conti answered back.
Several rounds punched the sandbags. All five men popped out of cover and returned fire. The .50 cal gunner on the Sherman roared with an onslaught of lead, ripping into the flesh of the Germans who were caught in the open. The cannon spewed shells into the SS ranks, sending limbs flying in the air.
Fats spot a German running forward and shot him twice in the chest with his carbine. MacKay caught two men with nice controlled bursts from his Tommy. Conti reloaded his Tommy gun and called back to the Heavy Machine Gun section.
"Sergeant Paine, get your MGs over here, A-S-A-fucking now!"
Paine led his men into cover and had two .30 cal, water-cooled, heavy machine guns set up within the drop of a hat. Paine bellowed, "Open Fire!" and the HMGs roared to life, ripping the entrails out of the German attackers and sending many others diving to the ground for cover.
The countless tide of Germans began a well-disciplined retreat, firing back and bounding backwards to cover as they did so. Fats was impressed. So these are the SS. Shit. These guys don't quit. He raised his carbine and began squeezing off shots at the retreating Germans, nailing one German in the spine and plugging another with three rounds to the back.
The Sherman fired shells upon shells into the crowd. The paratroopers patted each other on the back, giddy as school children. Their blood was pumping. Their hearts were racing. Fats could see pure exhilaration on their faces at the huge shift of momentum. They began screaming at the Krauts with wild smiles as they fired their carbines. The Germans had pushed them back and killed their buddies, but they still held on. Now the Germans were the ones who were falling back. Oh what a beautiful mess Able Company had made, Fats thought, the contagiousness of whipping the Germans seeping into him.
Lieutenant Heywood stood to his feet, waving his arms in a circle, "Alright Fox Company, we got the Krauts on the run! We can't let their armor escape! Let's go get the bastards!"
The paratroopers and Able's Weapons platoon began advancing down the street, firing their weapons at the hip. The lone Sherman creaked down the street, both its coaxial turret and .50 cal blazing with fire. The paratroopers kept moving forward, screaming, firing and reloading, their voices insane.
"Keep firing, they are breaking! Drive them back, infantry!"
"Hey Western Union arrived, here's a telegram filled with lead!"
"How's it feel falling back, Jerry?"
"Hooah! Airborne, let's keep smokin' 'em!"
The Americans had pushed the Germans back to the destroyed Town Hall, Fox's original HQ. Fats got a ring on the radio.
"Able Six, this is Able Three, over!"
Able Three, Third Platoon, Sergeant Crane. "Able Three, this is Fats. What's the sitrep, over?"
"Fats, 3rd Platoon is engaging with multiple Germans, platoon strength. They're hiding in buildings but we're flushing them out. We also spotted a Stug falling back to the bridges accompanied by a squad of infantry, our Shermans chased him away. They're heading straight for the town hall up the center, alert the Captain. Prepare a nice surprise party for them. Over."
"Solid copy, hang tough, Crane. Out." Fats wheeled to MacKay. "Sir, Crane called. He said the Krauts are hiding in buildings, and a Stug is on its way here with a squad of infantry."
MacKay nodded in approval. He had the Sherman pivot towards the right and had the HMGs set up to overlook the approach of the right. The perfect ambush. Within seconds, the Stug ran from the right and into the sector of Town Hall with the infantry squad on its tail.
The Sherman fired its 75mm, the shell slammed into the hull with authority, but the Stug continued to move, its engines now smoking. The paratroopers brought out their Recoilless Rifle, and finished the tank off with one shot. The infantry squad accompanying the tank did not fare much better. The HMGs burned through half their belt, and scythed down the retreating infantry like blades of grass.
The American infantry took position by the fallen town hall and MacKay told Fats to send out the message, the center of Carentan has been recaptured. Fats gleefully flipped through the dials and reported his C.O.'s words to the fellow platoons, but he picked up a disturbing rogue transmission from an unknown party.
"Fox Six, this is Corporal Dennings! Fox Six?! Anyone pick up! We're getting torn to pieces!"
"Lieutenant Heywood, I picked up a call from a Corporal Dennings."
Heywood's eyes shot open. "Dennings, they're still alive?" The LT ran and grabbed the receiver, his voice frantic in receiving an update. Fats turned to Tates.
"Dennings and seven others set up an OP by the edge of town. We lost contact with them at the beginning of the attack. We…We thought we lost them."
"Dennings, this is Heywood. What's your status, over?"
Fats could hear Dennings' voice from the handset. "I can't see, sir! I got blood in my eyes! We're still in the church on the outskirts of Carentan. Coleman's dead, Nico's dead, Johnston too! We're fucking pinned down, sir! The Krauts are retreating from the town and running right into us!"
"Stay calm, son. We're coming to get you! Stay calm!" Heywood shoved the receiver into Fat's chest and stared at him with deranged eyes. "Stay on the horn with him, tell him we're coming for him!" Fats shook his head in beleaguered silence. Just by looking into the Lieutenant's eyes, he knew that more than likely, these trapped men wouldn't make it. And now he had to stay on the phone and listen to their peril? By God, this was part of his job that he detested the most.
"This is Able Six. Dennings, do you copy, over?"
"I copy, who's this?"
"I'm with Able Company, I'm Sergeant Middlebrook. Everyone calls me 'Fats'. What's your status, over?"
"My fucking status is that we're in a goddamn firestorm out here!"
"Stay calm, Dennings. We're coming to you with tanks! You boys will be fine, over."
"When?"
Fats paused. "I…I don't…five minutes, maybe s—"
"We ain't got five minutes!"
"Hang tough, Dennings, I promise we—"
"Mendosa! Terry, the bastards got Mendosa, return fire on the left!"
"Dennings, are you there? Over?"
"Please hurry! I don't wanna die bleeding in a church! Please, Fats, hurry!"
A hard shiver crawled down Fats' spine. "We're coming for you; we got a lot of Krauts in the way!"
"Pete, shift your fire left! Terry, find better cover!
In the background, Fats could hear a paratrooper scream that they were surrounded, followed by Dennings' scream.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! Ah God! No!"
"Dennings, what happened?"
"Fats…they got me! Holy fuck, it burns! Ah! Fuck!"
"Hang on! We're nearly there!" Fats lied. "We're close to you!"
"Jesus, they're bringing in tanks! Get us out of here! Fats!"
An explosion roared into the handset, followed by the sporadic pops of German rifles. Fats screamed into the phone for Dennings' name. It took a while, but he finally heard a sound that resembled the high pitch cry of an animal.
"Oh God…my foot…my foot…" It was Dennings, but he wasn't speaking into the radio. His voice was quivering, cracking under fear and pain. "Where is my foot…what did they do with my foot…oh God. Oh God!"
"Dennings, can you hear me?! Dennings! Dennings!"
"I don't wanna—I don't wanna—I don't wanna—I don't wanna—Mom, Dad…I'm sorry—I didn't wanna—I didn't wan—"
He heard another quick explosion, the radio cut off. Fats' hand trembled as he removed the phone from his head. He could feel the anguished stares of Heywood and Tates. He spoke to them with a voice so fragile. "I…I lost contact with the squad. They're…They're all dead…"
Machinegun fire erupted and ripped through the deuce gunner on top of the Sherman. Fats, who stood behind the tank, couldn't look away as he witnessed the bullets ripped through gunner's jacket. It sent out clouds of dust, blood, and chunks of both fabric and flesh flying about. One round happened to find the gunner's jaw, sending shards of teeth flying into Fats' face.
As everyone ducked for cover from the elevated MG42, Fats stood there, lost in his own memory. He remembered what happened on D-Day just a week ago. He remembered coming out of his landing craft, wading through the tide behind several men, watching their skulls explode from the hissing streams of bullets. His stomach churned at the vile thought. Conti pulled him in behind the now stagnant tank.
"MG42!" Conti announced.
"Where is it?" Sergeant Tates asked.
"Fuck. I didn't see it, but it's in front of us. Anyone hit?"
"Me." Lieutenant Heywood was lying behind cover next to MacKay who was calling for a medic. A small pool of blood was forming around his waist.
"Sir! Where ya hit?!" Tates asked.
"I'm fine, stay in cover. The bullet got me in the hip! I'm fine. We need the tank to take out that damn MG."
The MG was hiding out in structural cover, about two stories, maybe three, but Fats couldn't see it. He wondered why the tank didn't blast the bastard to bits. Maybe they couldn't find the MG? Fats spotted the phone attached to the rear of the tank with wire that snaked through the tank deck and disappeared into the open turret. A light bulb went off in his head.
He grabbed the phone attached to the tank and climbed on top of the rear hull. The MG42 started firing at him, but the top hull and the gunner's carcass that he used as a shield protected Fats from the dreaded lead. "Sorry about this buddy," he apologized to the corpse.
"Sergeant! What are you doing up there? Get down now!" MacKay yelled from his pinned position.
But Fats ignored his concerned Captain. He looked over the bullet-ridden body and located the muzzle flash of the MG. He brought the phone to his ear and barked into the receiver.
"Sergeant Wilcox, this is Sergeant Middlebrook! Y'all got a Kraut machine gun, 75 meters, top floor, three story house on the left, 10 o'clock. Nail 'em!"
The 75mm cannon rotated to the coordinates and blasted the machinegun position to dust.
Smoke and dust from the concussion wave billowed around Fats, the pure eruption of the 75mm was damn near deafening. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he had an annoying ring in his right ear.
"Target destroyed!" Wilcox boasted.
"Yeah-Ye-Yeah! Target destroyed…" Fats slurred, gaining back his senses, "Next time warn a G.I. how loud a tank is up close."
The men jumped out of their covers and returned fire with the Germans. MacKay, Conti, and Tates ran towards the rear of the tank, satisfaction was on their faces.
"Quick thinkin', Fats. Maybe ya not that useless after all," Conti joked, patting him on the shoulder.
But the compliments had to wait. The Germans still held half of the town, with most of the Germans residing in the semi-demolished buildings. MG42s were established in the buildings with units of Grenadiers firing from the windows.
"We need to push forward!" Heywood shouted from cover, Doc Conrad by his side who was patching him up. "Tates, go with Able. Make those bastards pay for 2nd Squad!"
Tates mounted the tank and made his way to the turret, "Understood, sir. I ain't letting fatso here, show me up," he grinned. Tates pushed the fallen turret gunner into the tank and took his place on the .50. He squeezed back on the trigger and experienced the exhilaration of firing the Ma Deuce, his .50 cal rounds cracking against everything he shot at, and leaving mammoth size holes in German bodies.
The Sherman slowly advanced down the narrow street, firing its cannon at the targets that Fats spotted. MGs, Anti-Tank guns, whatever Fats yelled into the receiver, the Sherman blew it to hell.
With the center bridge in sight, the Sherman listed forward at moderate speed, not paying attention to the Stug IV lying in wait at the western bridge. Both Tates and Fats, with slacked jaws, spotted the danger.
"Aw, crap!" Tates shouted.
"We got a Stug on the right, 40 meters, 3 o'clock!" Fats yelled into the radio.
But the Stug fired first. The shell fell lower than its intended target—the hull. It hit the Sherman's right tread, derailing the tank. The sudden blast dazed Fats, causing him to tumble off the tank and into the street, German rounds cracking around his large body.
Tates rotated the M2 and started firing at the infantry as the Sherman's cannon rotated to the right, firing an AP shell through the hull of the Stug, igniting it into a ball of flame.
"Fats, you alright?" Tates called from the turret.
"Yeah, I'm good," he said, rising to his feet, "I may need to sit down a little…"
"Target destroyed," Wilcox said into the radio, "We can't move forward, what's the damage?"
"The tank shell knocked out your treads. I'm going to radio Mercer and his engineers to—"
A German rifle cracked. The bullet hit Fats' radio. He dived to the ground and checked his radio as Tates' .50 roared back against the Germans. MacKay and Conti ran at a crouch to the disabled tank and scoped out the new situation.
Through his binoculars, MacKay witnessed the final elements of the Panzergrenadiers retreating from across the bridges along with two Stug tanks, firing back at the advancing Americans. They had to stop the retreat of the armor.
"Fats, you hit?" Conti asked.
"I'm fine. The radio is shot to shit."
"We got two Stugs pulling out of Carentan with a baker's dozen of infantry." MacKay announced.
"Aw Christ. We can't let those tin cans get away!" Conti said.
Tates leaned into the tank and came back out, "Wilcox said the range is too far for his Sherman, and the Recoilless Rifles have to cross the bridge to get to the tanks."
"That bridge is too open with that many Germans across the bridge and with those two Stugs, we can forget about our Shermans crossing."
"All we need is heavy cover fire, and we could cross it ourselves. We just need something heavy to knock out the Stugs," MacKay said.
"We had 105s on standby, but the Krauts were right on top of us so we couldn't use 'em," said Tates.
"Damn, a working radio would have been perfect," Fats rolled his eyes as he took off the busted SCR-300.
"Maybe there's another way," MacKay said peering through his binoculars. He gave them to Fats and Conti and pointed forward. "Look forward 60 yards past the bridges, in the gulch under the trees. That radio looks fine."
Fats saw what he meant. In the gulch were several dead Germans, including a German radioman. Through the field glasses, it seemed that the backpack transceiver was intact. Fats and many radiomen like him were trained to operate German radios; yet the notion of crossing an exposed bridge to reach a radio for arty support that might not even work seemed to be on the cusp of madness. But it was coming from the guy who walked across Omaha Beach and lived. Would luck hold them all with the same embrace?
Fats gulped. "I see it sir, I-I bet we can take that radio. We'll just be exposed on the approach."
MacKay turned around, "Conti, stay here and bring the rest of Weapons' up here to provide cover fire. Try to get into contact with the rest of the company. Fats, on me. Tates, stay in the turret and provided suppression with the Deuce."
"Yes sir. Take Holmes, Griff, Parr, and Kowalski with ya. They got a bazooka that can help ya," Tates suggested.
MacKay nodded. The six men lined up near the edge of the bridge, biding their time for the rest of Able Company to line up. The remaining Shermans, American machineguns, and rifles lined up near the edge of waters and both sides opened up. Fire blazed up and down the river, tracers crisscrossed over the water.
The six men crawled across the bridge on their bellies like lizards, ducking the rounds that cracked off the bridge's protective walls. Once across, the six men rose to their feet and dived into a dry gulch where the German radio was. Fats grabbed the radio and started tinkering with it as the rest of the makeshift squad returned the retreating German's fire.
Fats' chubby fingers swept the dials at furious speed, listening in on the static as the rounds cracked overhead. MacKay stood over his radioman and fired a long burst from his Thompson, the shell casings from the SMG bouncing off Fats' helmet. The paratroopers beside them fire from their Recoilless Rifle, and disabled one of the Stug's treads.
After scrambling frequencies for nearly a minute, Fats heard a most beautiful sound, an American voice from Battalion Artillery.
"This is Red-One-Six, what's going on?"
Fats screamed jubilantly to MacKay, "Sir, I got Battalion Arty on the horn! Gimme your map…standby Red-One-Six, for a fire mission. Request a spotting round—repeat—I need a spotting round at grid: 49.3, 1.25! 105s, H-E!"
"Copy that, spotting round out."
The spotting round fluttered over Carentan and crashed into the eastern road, the round fell a meter or two beyond the intended targets, exploding by the rear of the last mobile Stug, knocking out its engine.
"Round complete. Check your fire. How's the range? Adjustments needed?"
One of the Stugs fired at them, exploding a shell near the tree they were under. Dirt, branches, and the stench of cordite fell on the squad. Fats hollered into the handset.
"Negative, no adjustments required! Range effective! Send in the barrage, H-E. Fire for effect!"
The heavy rounds of the 105s hammered into the two tanks, blowing the dirt high into the air with a terrible screech that could deafen the gods. The German tanks explode with force; the German infantry exploded into charred pieces. The shelling soon ceased, and the only Germans stirring were the maimed that survived the bombardment.
Fats exhaled hard, burying his chunky face into the dirt in relief. MacKay patted him on the shoulder.
"The colonel is going to give out a commendation for that," the Captain smiled.
Fats didn't move his head. "If it ain't a straight ticket back home, he can give it to Hitler for all I care, sir."
An hour after the defense of Carentan, the town was now a bustling hub for American supplies, courtesy of the 29th and 4th Infantry Division that set up shop in the crucial town. Able Company could only enjoy a relatively short break before orders came to move out. They rode out of the city on tanks, courtesy of the 2nd Armored Division. The lead tank carrying MacKay, Conti, Fats, and Lieutenant O'Leary grinded to a halt in front of Sergeant Tates and a bandaged Lieutenant Heywood—using his carbine as a crutch.
"Shouldn't you be at the aid station, lieutenant?" Conti asked.
"Someone had to see Able off. The rest of Fox is too busy finishing off "liberated" wine."
"We're glad we came so they could enjoy that French wine," Lieutenant O'Leary chuckled.
Tates cracked a toothy grin, "Ya know, you schmucks ain't bad—well ya know—for regular army that is."
"And you Eagles ain't half bad being surrounded by Krauts for the entire week," Fats said.
"We're paratroopers, Sergeant. We're supposed to be surrounded." Heywood said proudly.
"Take care, Fox," MacKay said with a warm smile, "See you guys in Berlin."
On the outskirts of Carentan, the column of tanks stopped to allow other traffic to pass by. Fats' eyes fell on several engineers and a few medics of the 29th Division searching through the rubble of a demolished building. Fats silently studied them for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him.
"Hey, you guys know where the church on the outskirts of Carentan is?"
One of the engineers threw away a large piece of debris before approaching Fats, "Yeah we do, Sarge." He pointed backwards, "You lookin' at it."
"Jesus…"
"Yeah, as Jerry retreated, they blew up the church. We was cleaning the rubble when Mikey over there found a severed American foot. And before you ask, we know it was American by the boot's design. Bastards blew up a church with Americans inside; can you believe that, Sarge?"
"…Yeah…I can."
"Christ, what is the war coming to?"
"You got a smoke?"
"Yeah, Sarge, give me a second…here you go."
"Thanks."
"Where is your outfit heading to?"
"To make Jerry pay for starting this war."
"Nice. When you get a Kraut in your sights, can you give 'em a nice F.U. from me?"
"Oh trust me, I will."