The Officer
July 9, D-Day + 33
"The will to persevere is often the difference between failure and success"
What a bombardment, thought 1st Lieutenant Ralph O'Leary. He stood there along with several of his men watching as the American howitzers blasted parts of Hill 192. To be shelled continuously for an hour, he hoped those Germans were screaming in agony underneath that intense artillery.
"Jerry ain't getting up from that!" said Private Burd, a replacement.
"I wouldn't say that, kid" said Sergeant Spencer, "Navy bombed the crap out of the beaches before we sailed in, and the Krauts were still alive."
"Oh, I would have thought—well, I'll shut up," the new man said meekly.
O'Leary sighed softly. Private Burd was one of the seven new men that First Platoon received today, just ten minutes ago in fact. The entire battalion supposedly received 100 new men today, equally 25 men to each company. Minutes ago, O'Leary introduced himself and his sergeants to all the new men and told them of the hell they were to expect fighting against the Germans. Some of them tried to look stoic but the innocent fear could still be seen in their eyes. As a platoon leader, O'Leary just hoped that this fear wouldn't compromise their combat efficiency.
Able Company was positioned to the left of Hill 192 and occupied an abandoned Norman farm that lied within the thick bocage. The men on perimeter watch were dug in with their machineguns pointed down towards the hedgerows, the rest of the men were lounging around the farm, trying to alleviate the monotony the best they could.
"Lieutenant O'Leary."
He turned around. "What is it, Conti?"
The First Sergeant had a cigarette dangling from his lips, "Captain wants to speak to all the officers by the CP."
"Alright, lead the way, Conti."
MacKay's his eyes lowered down on the map of the area. By his side were the replacement officers that joined Able after Cherbourg; 2nd Lieutenant Emory Peck of 2nd Platoon, and 2nd Lieutenant Eric Sleeman of 3rd Platoon. O'Leary chuckled bitterly, there was supposed to be at least six to seven officers within a rifle company, but they currently only had four and he was originally a 2nd Lieutenant a month ago and was speedily promoted to a 1st Lieutenant and Executive Officer—the second-in-command of a rifle company. Hell, before they took Cherbourg, he and MacKay were the only officers left; all the platoons except for O'Leary's 1st Platoon were led by NCOs—and 2nd Platoon was led by then, Corporal Hudson.
"There you are, Ralph." MacKay said with a smirk.
"Sorry, sir, no excuse."
"Not a problem." The Captain then diverted to all his platoon leaders, "Right now, it is 0715 and Charlie Company is assaulting Hill 192. While Baker Company is moving up towards the center to take Charlie's place in the line and Dog is down on the right of the line with its flank tied into thick vegetation, Able's flank is the only one that is open. We're going to rectify it. There's two fields down to the south that are open enough to move the company into. Once we take these two fields our flank can be tied in and we won't need to worry about any German counterattacks. But of course, the Germans are most likely there in the hedgerows to cease any attempt to gain them. So I need a platoon to go into those hedgerows and secure these two fields to tie in our flank."
Lieutenant Peck cleared his throat and stood straight, "Sir, I believe I can lead 2nd Platoon through the field, sir."
Lieutenant Sleeman spoke up as well, "3rd Platoon can get the job done as well, sir."
O'Leary stared at them, he wondered if they had any true notion what it meant to fight within hedgerows.
MacKay looked at them and said, "Thanks for volunteering, but I want O'Leary and 1st Platoon on this."
"Understood, sir." O'Leary noticed the disappointment on the other officers' face. But he knew why he was chosen and they weren't. They had next to no experience in hedgerow fighting, they both came after Cherbourg and their only combat experience was the St. Fromond urban combat. But this wasn't urban or open-field warfare, this was enclosed fighting from hedge-to-hedge. And O'Leary and the original men of Able had plenty of experience in this during the first week of the Invasion.
MacKay turned to his XO, "Take what you need, Ralph, and who you need to make this as full-proof as possible."
"I definitely need a Sherman, Mercer's engineers, and one crew from Sergeant Paine's machineguns. Hmm, I'll get Troy just in case. Is Wilcox's Sherman outfitted with the bulldozer yet?"
Captain MacKay shook his head, "Not yet. It took a day to get the flail on and in working order, it'll take a day for the bulldozer as well. He's still back in the motor pool to the rear."
"Then how about Sergeant Marco and Hitler's Bane?"
"He's being used to aid Charlie Company. We did get one new Sherman tank, led by Sergeant Withers."
O'Leary frowned, "Any experience in hedgerow fighting?"
"Unfortunately none, Ralph."
"Great…"
"I know, but a Sherman is better than nothing, Ralph."
"Yeah, you're right, sir. I'm going to get him."
"You should jump off around 0745, let the men know the password of the day, and…" MacKay stopped, cracking a small smirk, "Hell, you know what to do, Ralph."
"Yes sir, I do."
"Good luck."
"Thank you, sir."
Thinking back on it, O'Leary couldn't really believe how he got to where he was now. He was the great-grandson of Irish immigrants that arrived in Pennsylvania and settled down in Philadelphia to escape the Great Potato Famine in Ireland. He joined the Army in 1942 in a way to honor the memory of his Uncle Jimmy—a man he had never met but whom his father always talked about. His uncle was a private in the First World War and was killed in the Argonne Forest and was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his heroism. Upon completing basic training, O'Leary took up an offer to go Officer Candidate School and became a 2nd Lieutenant back in February 1944 with the 29th Division. He was originally a supply officer, but he thought of his Uncle Jimmy and craved for combat to prove himself. And God delivered in a way that O'Leary—on some brutal days—regrets. He was transferred to Able Company in May, a month before the Invasion. By then, Able Company already had their quota of officers and he was the second officer within 1st Platoon.
It always struck him odd how he was only meant to be a spare officer in Able, and now he was the Executive Officer of the entire company. After D-Day, he was the platoon leader of the entirety of 1st Platoon and he believe he took to command well and he felt that his men respected him. It takes a good platoon leader to make his platoon great, but it truly takes a great platoon sergeant to make the platoon outstanding. And O'Leary counted himself blessed that he had such a platoon sergeant as Staff Sergeant Roland Fischer. There wasn't a single NCO in the company that O'Leary could depend on more than Fischer.
Fischer came over to him with a puzzled expression. "What is it, sir?"
"Tell the men to gear up, Roland. 1st Platoon is going through the hedgerows."
"Damn, and here I thought we were excused from the attack against the hill, sir."
"We are. But the way our flank is situated, if the attack stalls and the Germans launch any counterattack…"
"And they hit our flank hard and we're screwed, right sir?"
"That's right, Roland. We're screwed. So we need to advance and take some fields to secure our left flank."
Fischer looked to the sky with a ponderous look, "And L-T, I bet that Dog Company's flank is secure on the right, while ours isn't. Correct?"
"Correct."
"Always Able," Fischer sighed.
"Always Able," the lieutenant sighed in return.
"So, who do we need, sir?"
"Quite a few. We need Mercer's engineers, an MG crew from Sergeant Paine's machineguns, Sergeant Withers' Sherman, and Troy."
Fischer raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like we're heading into a fight, sir."
The lieutenant raised his arm and pointed towards the bocage, "Every yard in those hedgerows is a fight. If we're this close to the hill, then the Germans are already waiting for us."
"True. Well then, L-T, I'll fetch the Sherman, a MG crew, and the engineers."
"Roland, you don't need to get all three yourself, I can get—"
Fischer grinned, "Don't worry about it, O'Leary. I can handle them. You can just get, Troy."
He was truly lucky to have a good platoon sergeant such as Fischer.
O'Leary didn't have to search that far for Troy. He spotted the Virginian sniper calmly sitting underneath a tree, watching the American artillery slamming into Hill 192.
"Troy, see anything up there?"
"Yeah, shells going off, trees exploding, every now and then I see someone stick their head out and move along."
O'Leary looked up to the hill, all he could see from the distance was smoke rising with each booming explosion. How the hell could Troy spot Germans moving on a hill with explosions all around from this far out with his bare eyes?
"Need something, sir?" Troy asked.
"Yeah, you. 1st Platoon is pushing into the hedgerows to take some fields, and when we run into resistance, I want you to be by our side."
Troy stood up and stretched, "Sure, I can do that, sir."
"Great, report to Corporal Callahan."
Soon all the sergeants were gathered around him. His squad leaders, Sergeants Hernandez of 1st Squad, Luce of 2nd Squad, and Spencer of 3rd Squad. Sergeant Jelenic from the Mortars and Sergeant Withers of the Sherman popped a squat as Sergeant Mercer stood over head, taking a smoke. Staff Sergeant Fischer ordered them to stop talking and listen up to the Platoon Leader.
O'Leary cleared his throat as he began, "Alright, 1st Platoon, we're commencing a reconnaissance-in-force around these two hedgerows here. Since we are the end of the line for the battalion, we need to take those two hedgerows and their respective fields and tie in our flank against the natural terrain, preventing any German counterattack. If we come across resistance from within the hedgerow, we'll have suppressing fire from the MGs, rifles, and Sherman; and the engineers will blow a hole through the hedges to make an entrance. If we can't secure these two fields, then our damn flank is up in the air until tomorrow. Also, here's today's password: challenge is 'Friday', answer is 'Home'. Pass the word to your men. God forbid we get separated, they must know that. We jump off at 0745. Questions?"
"Sir." It was Staff Sergeant Fischer. "What's the formation you want us to go for, sir?"
"We'll move out in a staggered column, I'll lead. Fischer, I want you to bring up the rear."
"Yes, sir."
Sergeant Spencer opened his mouth, "Lieutenant, how'll the squads be positioned?"
The lieutenant looked to the tank sergeant, Withers, "I'll have your tanks leading the column down the road."
The tanker was thoroughly surprised, "Uh sir, is it really wise to be hiding behind the tank, what if we run into antitank fire?"
"The only times the Krauts are going to use antitank weapons is if we actually go penetrate the hedgerows. What I'm worried about are the snipers. Hedgerows are great bottlenecks for snipers, especially if they got the high ground from the hills and trees. Understand, sergeant?"
"Yes sir."
Man, I really wish Wilcox was here, at least he knew how to fight in the hedgerows. O'Leary continued, "Once the tank is moving, the 3rd Squad will be up front, followed by 1st Squad, then the MGs, the Engineers, 2nd Squad, and finally the mortars. Understand, Sergeant Spencer?"
"Understood, sir." Spencer nodded.
"I got a question too, Lieutenant." It was Sergeant Luce. "We just got brand new replacements not shy of half an hour ago. They coming with us too?"
O'Leary sighed, "Yeah they are. I know what you're all thinking, but they're tagging along with us. That's why I want you sergeants to pair off each new man with a veteran. We ain't got a lot of time, so tell them the score of what's happening and make sure they're squared away."
"I got one, sir," said Hernandez. O'Leary braced himself for a smartass comment. "Any particular reason 1st Platoon got this crap job?"
O'Leary exhaled with a smirk, "Cause 1st Platoon has the most men experienced in hedgerow fighting, Sergeant Hernandez. 2nd and 3rd have too many replacements to be useful. Besides, Hernandez, the Cap finally remembered that you were in my platoon, so if we're going out on a 'crap job', remember that it was your fault."
The NCOs around him began to chuckle.
"Any more questions, smartass?" Staff Sergeant Fischer asked with a raised brow.
The other sergeants sniggered and lightly jabbed elbows at Hernandez, who just nodded with a smirk of his own. "None, sir. Thank you, sir. Everything is my fault, sir!"
"Damn right it is." Luce said to him with a light smack on the head.
"Good. Alright boys, let's get to it."
He led his men forward into the maze of hedges; his face was hard as stone, and yet he felt that his legs were soft like jelly. Every step he took, his heart was shaking with fear; but he would be damned if his men saw that he was afraid. But was his fear warranted? He already saw, firsthand, how brutal hedgerow fighting truly was. And though he had a Sherman, an MG squad, mortars, and engineers, he still knew—he knew—that some of his men were going to die today. But whom? And how many?
They advanced briskly in a crouched column formation. The Sherman led the way and O'Leary led his platoon at the head of the column, while Staff Sergeant Fischer brought up the rear. Down the trail they walked, the entire platoon surrounded by two hedgerows running parallel down the trail about five meters apart from one another. O'Leary felt like he was leading his men down the Labyrinth that old Daedalus constructed to hide away the Minotaur. These hedgerows were huge, standing six feet high and thoroughly dense from tangled roots and thick branches. It made it nearly impossible to see through from one field to the next. How long had these earthen ramparts been laying idle in France, how long had they been growing to fulfill their deadly purpose for today?
The Sherman was traversing cautiously through the road, it was a bit muddy, but the treads had enough traction to proceed. He knew the Germans could hear the rustling of the gears of the tank, but there was no bothering with stealth since the Germans had the high ground which overlooked most of the approaches.
He looked over his shoulder periodically, the platoon was still in a solid formation. Though it seemed that 1st Squad was veering off slightly, but he was confident that Hernandez would bring them back into position. The man directly behind O'Leary was his trusty radioman Private Bress, and behind him was Troy the Sniper whose head swiveled from left-to-right and towards the hill, his eagle eyes scanning any sign of life to snuff out. The squad right behind Troy was Sergeant Spencer's 3rd Squad, being led by the scout for the squad, Private Arnold Palley from Lanham, Maryland, a D-Day veteran.
O'Leary took note of the face of the brand new replacement behind Palley, he believe he was Private Burd, the same man commenting on the bombardment from earlier. O'Leary shook his head at the kid, he and seven other men had just joined his platoon an hour ago. And now they were moving through the perilous hedgerows with these men having no concept of how truly harrowing this avenue of death was. But O'Leary realized that 1st Platoon had the highest number of men from original Able men, the rest of the platoons had received the brunt of the new replacements since Cherbourg.
Okay, we're coming across the junction to the fields, the formation is holding, the Germans aren't attacking us yet, maybe they're further down the line… If we keep up this pace, then we can have the field in our gras— Burd slipped on the mud, he fell on his rifle and his knapsack spilled out noisily. The entire column stopped and dropped except for the Sherman.
"Goddamn replacements!" Sergeant Spencer sneered lowly.
"C'mon and get back up!" O'Leary ordered softly over his shoulder.
Burd's face reddened, he scrambled to get his stuff back in his bag, apologizing frantically, "Sorry, sir! So sorry, sir! Sorry!"
Private Arnold Palley rushed back towards the replacement and pulled him to his feet, softly whispering in an annoyed tone, "C'mon kid, on your feet damn it, I don't wanna keep picking you u—"
Bullets from a machinegun ripped through the hedgerow and through the bodies of Palley and the replacement. As blood shot out of the holes in their bodies, both men fell without making a sound.
"Everyone get down!" O'Leary roared.
"Hit the dirt! Hit the dirt!" Fischer exclaimed from the back of the column.
Everyone dived to the ground. The bullets continued to rake the section of the hedge where Palley was standing.
"They're inside the damn hedgerows!" someone shouted.
The riflemen began squeezing off shots through the hedgerows, but nothing seemed to be quelling the automatic German fire.
"Sir! Sir!" came from Troy. "Permission to go ahead alone, sir?"
The officer answered back, "Do it!" And with that, the handcuffs were off. Troy's expression devolved into that of a truly sinister animal. His eyes were sharpened and he bared his teeth, and crawled through the hedgerow like a snake. Troy was one of the best snipers he's seen, best to allow him to do what he had to do.
O'Leary crawled to Palley and Burd as branches and twigs fell on top of him. Both men had five holes in their torsos, all of them leaking copious amounts of blood. Palley was still breathing, Burd was not. O'Leary gulped, Goddamn it… this soon…? Palley's eyes were closed, yet his wheeze was loud and pitched higher than a whistle, a bullet must have caught him in the lung.
"Medic, up front!" Sergeant Spencer cried back down the line.
Conrad the Medic ran furiously through the mud ignoring the MG's random spraying. He checked on Palley and then checked on Burd, and then began immediately working on Palley.
"What's Burd's status?" O'Leary asked.
"He's dead, sir!" Conrad shouted over the gunfire.
First man gone, a replacement…
Then it began to rain mortar rounds over the platoon.
Of course! They had this entire hedgerow pre-sighted for mortar fire. The machineguns pin us down, and they rain mortars from above! We're boxed in. We need to move!
O'Leary stood to his feet, yelling for his men to get moving. Conrad scooped up the unconscious Palley in a fireman's carry and took him back to the rear. The lieutenant went to the Sherman's rear radio and told the tanker to advance to get out of the mortar's barrage.
Withers replied, "Don't worry, Lieutenant. Leave it to us!"
Leave what to us? The Sherman advanced out of the range of the barrage, but kept on moving ahead, leaving the infantry behind. O'Leary was grinding his teeth, where the hell were they going?
He moved through the barrage of the mortars, cursing the tank that if he got hit trying to reach them…
O'Leary made it back to the rear phone, but the tank was still advancing. He yelled, "Sergeant, what the hell are you doing?!"
Withers answered back, "Lieutenant, we can't fire through this thick vegetation, but we can sure as shit make a way for your boys, we're gonna bust down that hedge in front of us."
No… "Stop! Stop, damn it! Don't try to penetrate that hedge, you're gonna leave us exposed!"
"Don't worry, sir, we can make it! We're gonna help y'all out."
"Goddamn it, stop! Stop, that's an order!"
A mortar exploded close by the lieutenant, knocking him to the ground. He stumbled to his feet in a daze, he checked himself out and to his relief, he was fine. But the Sherman was still accelerating at full speed. It slammed itself into the hedge directly running along the trail and began to careen upwards, stalling wickedly as it tried to flatten the hedgerow manually.
It was working, slowly but surely, the thick hedge was succumbing to the weight of the 35 ton tank. But O'Leary saw movement on the opposite side of the hedge. It was quick but he saw it clear as day. Two Germans, a Panzerfaust team running towards the position of the American tank, and most likely taking aim at its unprotected underbelly.
O'Leary rose to his feet yelling, "No! No! Reverse! Back up! Back up!"
A screeching shrill gushed in the air. The rocket had slammed into the unprotected underbelly of the Sherman. A blast of fire shot out from the top hatch and Withers hollered in agony. The Sherman was destroyed, its hull breached and burning bright. Withers somehow climbed out of the burning hatch, missing his left leg while the right was on fire, he was still screaming. As he fell to the dirt, several German bullets cut him down. And within two minutes of the engagement, Lieutenant Sherman had just lost an entire tank and its crew. Without their armor support to take cover behind, the infantry were sitting ducks for all kinds of small arms fire.
"O'Leary! O'Leary!" he heard someone call him.
Behind him were his radioman, Bress, and a fellow soldier, Dawkins coming to get him. O'Leary was at least fortunate enough they didn't address him by rank, thus marking him in a sniper's crosshairs.
Dawkins took two steps, call his officer's name, before he crumpled backwards from a sniper round.
"Sniper!"
"Get down! Get down!"
O'Leary rushed over to his wounded man and looked over Dawkins and plugged the wound with his hands. Dawkins groaned and whined, his blood pouring through O'Leary's fingers.
"Medic!" O'Leary cried out. "Someone find that sniper."
O'Leary and Bress wrapped their arms around the man and began dragging him backwards.
The sniper's rifle cracked again.
The bullet tore through Dawkins' thigh. "Jesus—!" was all the wounded man could scream.
Frustrated anger was rising within O'Leary. He looked up in front of him and saw something moving, in the trees.
Those bastards… "They're in the trees!" The first man he saw with a BAR was Adair from Sergeant Hernandez's squad. "Adair, the sniper is in that tree, 50 yards away, right over the hedge. Get him!"
"I see it, sir!"
Adair unleashed the full magazine of his BAR. The lieutenant followed the tracer rounds. They hit his target, snapping off branches and leaves. He witnessed something heavy fall out of the tree, plummeting to the earth.
"I got the bastard!" Adair cheered.
The lieutenant picked up the wounded Dawkins and placed his bloody arm over his shoulder, as Bress put the other arm over his shoulder.
O'Leary asked, "Can you walk, Dawkins?"
Dawkins put weight on his wounded leg and groaned with gritted teeth, "God! I… I think so, sir."
"Alright." He turned to his men, "Fall back men, get out of this barrage!"
He had to get his men out of there. The rounds were still exploding all around them, the hedges and trees were being obliterated. Mud was flying and splashing on the fleeing GI as the razor shrapnel soared passed their limbs. Staff Sergeant Fischer order the platoon to fall back several meters to escape the bombardment. The Germans kept firing their automatic weapons through the hedgerows, some of the riflemen had to crawl to avoid getting raked down by the fire.
O'Leary and Bress kept moving with the hobbling Dawkins under their arms. Dawkins suddenly shrieked and collapsed to the ground, pulling the lieutenant down with him. One of the automatic weapons firing through the hedgerow had randomly hit Dawkins in the hip.
Dawkins was now sobbing from the third wound, "Jesus! Just leave me alone!"
O'Leary slung his carbine over his shoulder and began dragging Dawkins back. "Medic!" he cried out.
With the help of Bress, the lieutenant was able to bring Dawkins out of the line of fire and to the safe hands of Doc Conrad.
The sergeants ran forward to him, all shouting for orders.
"Lieutenant we're pinned down!"
"We're taking too much fire from the hedgerows, sir!"
"Do we fall back, sir?"
"What the hell are we going to do?"
All these questions… Just let me think! Let me think! What to do? We're pinned down by hedgerows and Germans pouring fire through them. And mortars are crashing down on us. And we're down a Sherman and three men. Shit! How the hell do we breakout?!
"Lieutenant!"
Of course, the plan! O'Leary went into work. "Al-Alright! Alright! We need to breakthrough this deadlock. Mercer, we stick to the plan, I want you to get your men and make a hole in the hedge here and twenty yards down the line. Go!"
Mercer nodded, "On it, sir. Come on, Birch, Smith, let's go prep the TNT!"
O'Leary turned to his radioman, "Bress, get Dunlop's machineguns up here!"
"You got it, sir!"
"What about us, sir?" Sergeant Luce asked, referring to the sergeants.
Mercer and his two engineers stuck explosive wiring and Comp-B inside the hedges at one point in the trail and exactly twenty yards down the line. The mortars were still falling but were beginning to ease up in their frequency, and the MG fire began to slowly ease away as well.
"Sergeant Luce, here's what you're going to do. Get your squad by the second hole in the hedge, as our MGs laying down a base of fire down by the first hole, you're squad will open up during the second hole. Keep those Krauts busy."
"Will do, L-T. C'mon boys, make like babies and crawl."
His squad dropped to their stomachs and crawled through down the trail as several bullets shot over their heads and a few mortars crashed around them. But they made it to the where the second opening in the hedgerow would be.
Dunlop's three-man MG crew came to the lieutenant. "Yes, sir?"
"Guys, Sergeant Mercer is going to blow a hole through the hedge. I want you to put your gun by the first hole and lay down a base of fire against the Germans in this field. Keep 'em busy as we're going to flank them."
"Got it."
O'Leary turned to Sergeant Hernandez and Spencer, "Spencer, I want you guys to stay by the first opening and aid the MGs in suppressing fire. When they need to reload, you open fire, keep a constant rate going."
"What about the mortars?" Hernandez asked.
"Once we get those '42s in that field to quiet down, we'll try to find where the mortars are falling from."
Mercer called from down the line. "O'Leary, charges are set!"
"Do it!"
Mercer cried out, "Fire in the hole!"
The rigged sections of the hedge blew away with a might force. Twigs and smoke went flying out.
"Dunlop, go!" the lieutenant ordered.
Dunlop's crew rushed to the first opening and placed their heavy machinegun inside and opened fire through the smoke. The automatic fire from the Germans had ceased their random raking of the area and concentrated on Dunlop's machinegun. O'Leary waved his hand to Sergeant Luce's squad. Luce nodded and his squad opened fire on the Germans across the field from the second opening. Then Sergeant Spencer's squad opened fire through the smoke.
With a large hole made in the hedgerow, O'Leary was able to get a clear view of the situation. The field that was behind the hedgerow was approximately 80 yards wide and open to cross. It seems that the Germans took the time to fall back across the field when 1st Platoon was falling back itself, they now resided underneath another hedge 80 yards away from 1st Platoon. And since the Germans in the opposite field were now engaged, now all they had to do was flank the Germans in that field by traversing these godforsaken hedgerows.
The hedgerow 1st Platoon was behind was leading off into an "L" shape, with O'Leary coming near the edge of it that opened up to a dirt road junction. He was prepared to cross the junction but stopped, realizing that he didn't know what was on the other side, most likely an ambush. He crouched down and called out, "Santiago!"
He answered down the line, "Sir?"
"Front and center!"
"On the way, sir."
The Portuguese soldier sprinted down the hedgerow and slid by the officer's side. "Yes, sir?"
"Hope you don't mind me taking some stuff from you, Santiago."
"Gee, sir, as long as you pay me back."
"Got a mirror?"
"Yes, sir." He took off his knapsack and dug in there for a moment before pulling out a small mirror that looked like it belonged on a car.
"Got gum?"
"Any flavor in particular?"
"Hurry! Just give me some."
Santiago gave the lieutenant a pack and watched as the officer voraciously chewed three sticks of gum. O'Leary pressed the big wad of gum to the back of the mirror and shoved the mirror inside the twisted vines and roots of the hedge. He gently tweaked it until he could see the reflection mirroring what was on the opposite corner of the hedge.
It was as O'Leary figured. There was an MG crew lying underneath the undergrowth of a hedgerow, with their menacing barrel pointed right at the edge where O'Leary and Santiago were. If his men had charged out from behind this hedgerow they were staying at, they would have been massacred. Behind the '42 were five Germans on their stomachs with their barrels pointed at the edge of the junction as well. And behind them were about ten Germans rushing off into different fields of hedgerows. O'Leary grunted in irritation, they had to go through there to capture this field for the rest of the company.
"Santiago?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Get Sergeant Fischer and Sergeant Jelenic from Mortars over here now. Double time it!"
"Yes, sir!" Santiago took off again.
He heard the two Sergeants rushing towards him. O'Leary got out of the way and showed the men the mirror inside the hedge. "Sergeants, take a look," he told them, "We got a MG crew with five riflemen just waiting for us in a defilade past this junction. We need to take that junction in order to capture this one field."
Sergeant Jelenic was still peering at the reflection and added, "My boys can rain down some fire on them to clear it up."
"Do you know where to fire based off that reflection?"
The mortarman nodded, "Bet your ass! With respect, sir."
"Alright, Jelenic, give me a ten round barrage on that defilade. Once the barrage ends, I'm going to take a squad with me up the junction and we're gonna flank that position."
"I can get Hernandez's squad for you."
"Do it and bring Santiago on back here, Roland. Also, stay here with the rest of the platoon and keep up a base of fire on that other hedge across the field, keep those bastards busy for us. I'm going to flank this road and that field. Get to it, Sergeants."
"Yes, sir." They both said.
Sergeant Hernandez's 1st Squad consisting of Corporal Merrill, Privates Adair, Pines, Lampton and Lazzano, came rushing over to the lieutenant. O'Leary's radioman, Bress, came as well along with Santiago. The mixed group crouched patiently behind the bend until the American mortars would come in.
Jelenic's mortar squad set up and the mortar sergeant ordered the ten-round barrage after giving them the coordinates. His men kept dropping shell after shell inside the tube, and the tube kept belching out each shell with a puff of smoke and a thump. They were doing it so fast that the mortar tube began to glow slightly from the heat.
Through the mirror, O'Leary watched as the first round crashed a few yards behind the Germans. It looked like the ambushing Germans nearly crapped themselves after the first round suddenly exploded behind him. The second round was more on target, smoke and fire engulfed the MG42 and its crew; O'Leary believed he saw a limb flying in the air. Screams and Germanic curses filled the air. The third round actually hit the side of the hedge in the center, blowing away the branches and vines. The barrage caused a large dust cloud to form around the ambushers and with each descending round, the cloud grew large and denser.
The tenth round exploded. O'Leary charged around the bend, good officers led the way. His eight men followed him, silence was their weapon. They had to take this junction. They entered the brownish-black dust cloud, their weapons ready at the hip. O'Leary moved in several feet, the long barrel of his M1 Carbine prodded against something fleshy, and he heard a grunt in front of him. A face of alabaster color emerged, his eyes were brown and his beard was thick, and his helmet was patterned in camouflage. The German wore surprise on his face like a mask, as he peered into the American officer's eyes.
The jolt of the suddenness caused O'Leary's trigger finger to snap backwards. The barrel of his carbine was kissing the man's sternum. The carbine yelped, the German winced; his eyes closed and his lips opened revealing gritting teeth. Then his voice came out, it reminded O'Leary of a wounded dog. O'Leary watched on in a trance, everything happening in slow motion. O'Leary squeezed his carbine twice more.
Where the German had fell was the hole that Jelenic's mortar round made in the hedgerow. To O'Leary's right, behind the hedgerow was the members of the German mortar crew of six men that had been dropping shells on top of them. The German mortar leader had a machine pistol in his hand and sprayed wildly at the Americans as he retreated backwards. The burst missed O'Leary completely, but the burst hit two men behind him. His radioman, Bress, got hit once in the left shoulder about six inches above his left nipple; and Private Jeffrey Pines from Hernandez's squad, who received two rounds in the hip. O'Leary dived to the ground and took aim at the retreating German, but it was Santiago who lined him up and put him down with three bullets.
The rest of the mortar crew, utterly surprised that the Americans were right on top of them, seemingly forgot about their weapons beside them, for the briefest of seconds. But it was within those brief seconds of pause that the squad took advantage and blasted them to pieces with their weapons at close-range. It was truly devastating for O'Leary to witness what Adair's BAR could do to the human body at point-blank range, his mind raced back to Omaha Beach.
Two Germans immediately threw down their rifles and shot their hands in the air, shouting "Nicht schiessen! Please, nicht schiessen, please!"
O'Leary's heart skipped, he was so close to popping them in the chest. "Hold your fire!" he ordered.
The men were shaking, their eyes were baggy, their uniform was filthy, and the blood of their friends were on their faces and chest. They clearly had enough of this. And he didn't blame them. As he looked around, the first man he saw was Santiago.
"Santiago, think you can take these two back to our lines?"
Santiago somehow found a way to smirk, "Can do, sir! Alright Krauts, let's go!" And with the barrel of his Garand, Santiago quickly led the two Germans back down the road to Able.
The Irish officer went to the two wounded men. Bress pulled his hand away from the wound and took a look at the blood, but said to his platoon leader, "Sir, I'm fine, it burns, but I'm fine, sir."
Lazzano and Merrill were already trying to patch Pine's wounds, but he stubbornly stood up and brushed them off, "I don't need that now, I'm fine, guys!"
"The hell you are," said his squad leader, Hernandez.
"I am, Vince! I ain't staying behind, damn it!"
O'Leary looked him over, "Can you move, Pines?"
Pines struggled to his feet but gave him a look of pure determination, "Yes I can, sir."
"Alright, we got this junction secured and the mortars neutralized, let's go clear out the adjacent field and hedges. Let's move!"
O'Leary led the squad through the adjacent road where Jelenic's mortars destroyed the ambush. The smoke had now cleared and the Americans stepped over the broken and dismembered remains of the German ambushers. Hernandez fired one round into each of the bodies that he passed by. O'Leary saw an opening down the road that the ambushers were most likely guarding. They entered the opening in low crouches and were surprised to see that it led directly into the first field and the opposite hedgerow where the remainder of 1st Platoon was still firing on. In this hedgerow was an MG42 crew and about ten riflemen exchanging fire with 1st Platoon. These were the bastards that killed Burd, and wounded Palley and Dawkins.
O'Leary wasn't smiling, but he was gleeful; they had caught these Germans unaware yet again. And it got better. His squad had the Germans in a clear enfilade—the Krauts were straight down a line whilst the Americans were at their flank with a clear field of fire.
O'Leary ordered his men in a firing line and positioned Adair's BAR right in the center for maximum effectiveness. Adair pulled down his bipod and set up comfortably, and O'Leary gave the squad the command to fire once Adair pulled the trigger. The BARman lined up the oblivious Germans in his sights and squeezed. The enfilade proved fatal as the heavy slugs from the BAR tore through multiple Germans with ease. Several Germans stood up in surprise, only to be picked off by O'Leary's men who were in cover. A German NCO tried to run but O'Leary took several shots at the moving target with his M1 Carbine and finally got him. He fell to the ground and squirmed, but was managing to rise to his feet. The downside of the carbine being lighter than the Garand was that it lacked the appropriate stopping power of its cousin. The lieutenant opened up once more and within the next four shots, the German collapsed in the dirt and didn't get back up again. O'Leary fired again at him until his 15-round clip was emptied.
A few Germans managed to crawl out of the enfilade and made a dash to the opposite bank of the hedge. O'Leary rose to his feet to stop them after he reloaded, he lined up his sight at the closest one. A rifle cracked that wasn't his or his men's and the German's head exploded. The Irishman blinked in disbelief, then the rifle cracked again and the second German fell to the earth, his head split apart by a bullet. The third German was mere feet from safety and like before, the rifle cracked and the German collapsed as pieces of his brain dyed the grass around him. O'Leary kept on blinking, What the fuck… Where did—wait, Troy!
His attention was brought away by loud blabbering from the opposite side of their current hedgerow in the second field parallel to them. He heard the sound of rapid footsteps and shouting. The Germans were pulling back, he could see silhouettes and shadows dancing through the leaves as they raced away. O'Leary took a count, it seemed to be near platoon strength. He cursed himself as he realized that if they're falling back this easily, then 1st Platoon must have broken through their first line of defense, out of possibly dozens of different lines from different fields of hedgerows. This bloodshed would begin again in earnest if they kept on pushing.
"Sir, all the Germans on this side of the hedge are dead," Sergeant Hernandez reported.
"Good, check your ammo and get some men on the perimeter to ensure."
O'Leary quickly shouted to the hedge where the rest of 1st Platoon was behind, "Friday!"
"Home!" Fischer shouted back, followed by, "Uh, O'Leary…?"
"Yes, it's us. Krauts are down, the field is ours. Bring up the rest of the platoon."
The rest of the platoon made their way through the two holes in the hedge and quickly dashed over the field and rejoined O'Leary's squad.
"Good job, boys," O'Leary said to the incoming men. "Especially you men laying down that base of fire," he told the MG crew. "Any casualties?"
Fischer answered, "Lind got hit in the shoulder, but Conrad took care of him. As did Kennard, sir, lucky bastard took a graze to the face, an inch closer and he'd be dead."
Only two wounded, and non-serious wounds at that… Thank God. O'Leary looked around, wondering about those three shots, "Troy? Troy!"
"Up here, sir."
The men all looked up. Troy was squatting in a thick tree, his entire body covered within the foliage; the only thing protruding out was the barrel of his Springfield and his pink face.
"The hell you get up there?" Fischer asked.
Troy looked down at them, then at the length of the tree he was in. "I climbed."
Some of the men chuckled, Fischer shook his head. Troy continued, "L-T, I saw about 25 Germans retreating back to a different field about a hundred yards back."
"Anything coming at us right now?"
"None that I can see, sir."
" 'None that you could see…' Alright then, Luce, Dunlop, get your men spread out along the axis of this hedge, you're on perimeter. We have a single field under Able Company property, we ain't letting Jerry get it back. Troy, did you see any armor?"
"Several, sir. Two Stugs and two Panzers. There were about 200 yards out and heading around the hill, sir. There's also a little town near the base of the hill, I think that's where the tanks were pulling back to, sir. Also I spotted several Germans towing a Screaming Mimi back down to the town."
Christ, they're ready for us. "Alright, Troy, get from on down there. Hernandez, Spencer, get your men covering the opposite approach; Mercer, get your engineers and go with them as well. Bress, give me the radio and get the Captain on the line. Men, we'll hold here and wait for Able to come up."
Bress spoke into the receiver and asked for the CO. O'Leary's mind drifted towards the casualties that mounted from the assault, twelve casualties including the tank crew; only six men were killed… O'Leary looked past the hedgerow. All those men and they couldn't get to the second field without coming into contact with more resistance...
Bress handed him the receiver, and the lieutenant heard MacKay's voice, "This is Able Six, over?"
"Able Six, this—"
O'Leary didn't hear a thing. The colors around him vanished into blackness, and he felt as if he was floating, suffocating under the weightlessness. He couldn't breathe and the world around was still so dark and his head felt like it was split open by a cosmic force. His eyes opened and the world's colors were muted into an apathetic grey and dirt was raining on his face.
He felt like he was coughing but he couldn't hear himself. Then a figure loomed over him, cradling his head and trying to speak to him. O'Leary's hearing returned, the world was spinning.
"O'Leary! O'Leary!" called the man cradling his head.
His hand scooped up the dirt beneath him. Was he lying on the ground, but… wasn't he standing up just a moment ago? "Fi-Fischer…?"
His eyes began to focus on his sergeant. "Oh thank Christ, L-T."
God, his head was hurting. "Wh-What happened?"
"We got hit by some arty, sir, but you look fine to me, sir! But we need to move! We gotta get outta this arty!"
Arty? What?
Men were lying on the ground slowly trying to get to their feet, others were squirming in the dirt in intense pain. O'Leary noticed the crater and blackened dirt that littered the green grass, the hole was no more than ten meters in front of him. O'Leary heard someone crying. A replacement whose name had escaped him at this moment, screaming at this maddening blast. Bress, blood falling from his face, ran over to the squalling replacement to calm him and get him to help the disoriented lieutenant. This time—O'Leary saw the explosion, felt the earth shake, and how the boom roared. The replacement disappeared within the blast, but Bress flew backwards a pink mist flew out around him. He slammed to the ground and did not stir, his entire ribcage was ripped open and leaked unto the grass.
"Bress…" was all that the officer could croak out.
"Fuck! Sir, we gotta get outta this arty!" Fischer said, frantically forcing O'Leary up.
His mind began to refocus once more. On wobbly legs he was assisted to his feet by Fischer, his breath returned to him. What the hell just hit them?
"Lootenant! Lootenant!" blubbered Smitty, he was helmetless and bleeding from a cut on his head.
"What is it, Smitty?!"
"C'mon! C'mon, sir! It's Lampton, he's hurt mighty bad, sir!"
The nine-fingered soldier led his officer and platoon sergeant to the wounded man, surrounded by his friends of Hernandez's first squad.
The poor bastard was screeching murder and tremoring out of control as his squad-mates tried to calm him. Lampton's left leg was a mangled, crimson mess. The flesh was blasted away from the jagged alabaster bone which stopped right below the knee. Conrad was already on Lampton, tying up a tight tourniquet right above his knee. Conrad then injected him with some morphine in the leg and went back to work to stem the bleeding.
"Sir, Lampton, needs a stretcher now!" the medic told him.
Tears were falling down from Lampton's face, his screams threatened to deafen the entire world as a pool of his life's blood was forming around him. It seemed as if the morphine wasn't doing anything for this miserable soul.
The same blast that mutilated Lampton had killed another man, Private First Class Jimmy Yates, an original Able man. His mutilation was far worse. Both his legs were gone, along with his left arm that was ripped away from his bicep. The man was only a torso and an arm. His tan combat jacket was charred black and his olive skin was a sickly grey, his back was ripped open, exposing his pinkish organs and white vertebra for everyone to see. The only thing that was still identifiable was his face, which by some mercy was still intact; only a trail of blood easily trickled down from his mouth and nose—yet his eyes were empty as they stared out into the field, staring into the abyss. O'Leary wondered if he had felt any pain at that moment. It was the moaning from the wounded men around him that snapped the lieutenant out of it.
What the holy hell had just hit them? Was it an artillery barrage? No, it was only one explosion and not in rapid succession either. It had to be one gun, but one gun that could inflict that much damage that quickly… A fucking 88…
If an 88 was in the area…
"Everyone, scatter! Don't bunch up! Grab the wounded and move!" he started screaming. He looked to Lampton and his squad, "Pick him up, now!"
"Sir, we can't move him," Conrad interjected, "I need to finish—"
"I don't give a shit! Pick him up and move him before that 88 targets us again!"
Hernandez was stunned, but he ultimately nodded and demanded his squad to grab their wounded friend. They grabbed him by the limbs and picked him off the ground, scurrying back to safety behind the hedges. Lampton was still screaming.
Not five seconds later, the ground exploded with horrible force. The exact spot where Lampton's squad was bunched up. The boom was thunderous, but it was through a discernable ear that O'Leary could hear the cannon from the 88 belching. He cursed bitterly. He lived in a world where rounds from weapons could reach its target before the weapon audibly fired.
He called for his men to grab the walking wounded and get them out of the open. Several of the men grabbed the wounded and brought them inside the hedgerow.
One man was still out in the open field, looking desperately at the hill. Did the blast leave the young man in a trance? He was a replacement from Luce's squad who just came in today, what was his name again… Brown? Yeah it was Brown.
"Brown? What are you doing? Get outta there, move!" The lieutenant bellowed.
"That stupid kid!" Hernandez hissed.
Brown snapped out of it and ran backwards. Brown was rushing back until another explosion rocked the field, sending him flying in the air and landing grotesquely. Brown was screaming that his leg was broken and that he could see the bone sticking out.
Without a second thought, the veteran Jeffrey Pines threw his stuff down and went hobbling as fast as he could on his wounded hip through the open field to fetch the replacement. Hernandez called out for him to return. But Pines made it to Brown and picked him up. Pines suddenly dropped backwards and unlike the replacement, he wasn't moving. Moments later, a sudden and wicked crackling from a rifle violated the air.
"Stay down! That was a sniper!" Troy called, already in cover underneath a bush.
"Jeff! Jeff!" Merrill cried out in horror. He went to get him, but fortunately, Sergeant Fischer was there and held him down.
"Can you see the sniper, Troy?" O'Leary called out.
"Nuh-uh, sir. Pines was on the ground before we heard the shot. Means the sniper's far. I bet he's on that hill, sir!"
Hill 192… that goddamn hill. He bet his life that the 88 was somewhere on the hill as well. He tried to scan the area for any smoke that came from firing an antitank weapon, but he couldn't see any. And of course with the vegetation still on the hill and with it being about half a mile away, there was no way they could locate the sniper.
"Don't anyone move!" Troy warned. "You cross this open field and you'll get it! This sniper's phenomenal…"
"Shut the fuck up, Troy!" Sergeant Hernandez sneered. "Pines! Pines, are you alright?!"
No answer.
"Jeff, are you there?!" Merrill begged with sobs.
"Jeffie!" Lazzano yelled.
Again no answer. His body still did not move.
"Lieutenant, we need to get the wounded out of here." Fischer commented.
"What do we do, sir?" Sergeant Mercer asked.
His brain was working overtime.
"Mercer, Jelenic should still be back on the trail, run over to him and order Jelenic to drop down a smoke barrage at the end of this field, now!"
The engineer nodded and headed back to deliver the message.
"Everyone, mark where the wounded are. Smoke is gonna drop! Get ready once the smoke thickens to its apex, we'll move on my command!"
The first smoke shell exploded and blossomed against the green vegetation surrounding the platoon, then another cloud emerged, then another. It was large and thick enough to obscure a part of the hill in front of them.
"Sir, let's go!"
"No, wait!" ordered O'Leary. Come on! Come on…
"Sir, the smoke!" Hernandez pleaded.
"Wait…!"
"Sir, we need to go now, while the smokescreen's still up!"
"No, wait for my command."
"But sir—"
"Wait! Trust me!" Come on! Come on! I know you're going to do it! Come on…
The earth thundered with volcanic eruption of dirt, the black smoke rose from the blast within the white smoke and the two opposite colors diluted into an ugly grey. Then the sound of the 88 firing followed the explosion.
O'Leary hopped to his feet like a frog and went off running, "Hurry, let's go! Hurry before they can reload! Grab the wounded!" The men sprung from the ground and dashed into the smoke to retrieve the wounded. As O'Leary and Fischer went for Private Brown, Hernandez's squad all ran to Pines. They shook him fiercely and called his name, but he still did not answer. They kept at it until they noticed a large red eye leaking blood right in the center of his chest.
"We need to leave him!" O'Leary said.
Hernandez and Merrill looked as if they saw a phantom. "What? Sir—"
"We'll come back for the dead, we need to fall back now! We gotta get out of range of that 88! Fall back, that's an order."
As soon as they had made it back, Captain MacKay had sent up the 3rd Platoon to occupy the field and manage the flanks, the battered 1st Platoon was put into reserve and rested inside the barn.
Corporal Merrill was silent, huge round tears welled up in his eyes. Adair and Lazzano were staring at the edge of their foxholes, their hands covering their mouths. Their sergeant, Hernandez, was fuming. He was pacing back and forth silently, breathing erratically, eyes reddened in sorrow.
The other two squads weren't faring that much better. O'Leary stared at his men, his helmet dangling from his fingers by his side, dirt and smoke had blackened his face. What the hell could I have done differently…? Half of his platoon was gone. With addition to an entire tank crew. Men were killed, shot full of holes, maimed, and he was still there with only a few scrapes on him. He was even stupid enough to have them bunch up for an artillery round in the middle of an open field… What the hell… He wondered if Uncle Jimmy felt this kind of forlorn fatigue when he was fighting the Germans almost 25 years ago.
"Ralph…"
It was MacKay, who with a silent flick of the head told O'Leary to follow him away from the platoon.
"Well, Ralph, I have 3rd Platoon taking over that field and they're establishing a perimeter around the bend of the field, I don't believe Jerry is coming back to attack. With this defensive terrain, he'll wait for us to come. This field also gives us some solid defilade from the 88s and snipers. All in all, good job."
"Thank you, sir."
"Ralph, how many casualties do you estimate you inflicted on them? "
"About two dozen or so, sir. Once we attacked the junction and disabled the mortar crew, we caught them unaware in an enfilade and killed a good number of them. So yes… around two dozen, sir. Though, we could see most of the Germans pulling back through the hedges of the second field once we flanked them, sir. And… I'm sorry, MacKay, but we couldn't get the second field."
"It's alright, Ralph. It's alright. Jerry seemed to have abandoned that field entirely and with that, our flank is secure…" O'Leary noticed MacKay seemingly preparing to regret asking the following question. "How about our casualties, Ralph?"
"We had ten dead, thirteen wounded sir."
"The dead?"
"Bress, Yates, Burd, Lamb, and Pines, and the entire five-man tank crew of Sergeant Withers, sir."
MacKay sucked his teeth, his eyes fell to the dirt. "I see…"
MacKay swore that he saw the spark from O'Leary's eyes whither for a moment. "Ralph, I know it was a tough assignment, but that's why I put you on it. We're in a natural defilade from that 88 and the German arty, and they can't attack us from the left unopposed anymore. It was tough but… I know it was worth it, Ralph."
"Yes sir, I understand." He truly did. If the new replacement lieutenants brought their platoons in there… but still, that didn't make the situation any less bitter… As an officer he knew—he knew—men would die under his command, and he accepted it. No matter how painful, he accepted it. He had to. But what he also had to accept was that they didn't die or were wounded for nothing. There had to be a greater good that came into existence because of the valor of his men. By God, was he proud of his boys. So proud.
"How are the men?" MacKay asked.
"They're…" he couldn't finish it.
"I see… You did your best, Ralph. Because of your platoon, we have our flank secured."
"Thank you, sir."
"I'll go see the men."
"Hernandez's squad."
"What?"
"Hernandez's squad, they loss both Lampton and Pines, gruesomely. Pines was the lynchpin of the platoon, his death had—well, it… y'know what I mean, sir."
"Oh, yeah I-I will see them, thanks, Ralph."
And O'Leary stood, watching the Captain approach his own men and offer comforting words towards them, to allow them to know that he shares their pain. Off to the side, O'Leary heard the familiar grumblings of his corporal, Joss Callahan, seemingly arguing with Staff Sergeant Fischer.
"Goddamn replacements…"
"What are you talking about, Callahan?"
"Those useless idiots…! Sarge, think about it… Palley, Bress, Pines; all got hit by helping out stupid replacements that didn't know what the hell to do! And that tank crew, abandoning us like that, thank God that we didn't need them that much in the end, but for the love of God what if we had! These stupid new guys don't know what the hell to do! I'm sick of it, Sarge." Callahan lit a German cigarette. It seemed to calm him down. He weakly nodded to Fischer, and walked away, grumbling, "Jesus Christ… goddamn replacements…"
Fischer took a squat on the grass and lit a cigarette. The lieutenant approached him, "What was that about, Roland?"
Fischer shook his head. "Callahan blaming the replacements for the snafu of our mission."
"Is he for real?"
"He is. Says that why Palley was wounded and why Bress and Pines were killed, they tried to help out the new guys. And he blamed the tank crew that went off on its owns. I saw him yelling at the other replacements earlier, I had to pull him off to the side."
O'Leary groaned, "Son of a… I'll speak to him."
"Don't worry, sir, I'll set him straight at the end of the day."
"I know you will, Roland, but I'm the platoon leader; it's something I have to do as well."
O'Leary looked over at his dejected men, some of their eyes were staring off endlessly, one replacement was still shaking. The carnage of the 88 was all that they could think of, he knew it. Such physical and psychological horrors that it could inflict on men… O'Leary remembered the suffocation he felt from the concussion alone, his heart was seizing within his chest. He took a squat next to Sergeant Fischer and was offered a smoke by him. O'Leary accepted and his mind drifted back to the explosion, the suffocation, his throat tightened. His thoughts were to himself but he knew every rifleman thought it. He would gladly face a hundred bullets if only to be excused from a single artillery round.