Seaforth's Ladies

by Sandy Addson

  “I’ve read Leftenant Colonel Goodbar’s report on your last engagement. Congratulations. You and your crew are to be Mentioned in Dispatches for your actions. Taking the offensive and destroying three armoured vehicles, not to mention your recognition of a proper Victor Target. That was well done for any soldier let alone a woman,” said the Brigadier with complete sincerity.

  “Thank you, Sir!” replied Alex keeping her voice low so that it didn’t squeak with the increase of volume. The older man meant well, so she tried very hard not to show just how much the ‘even for a woman’ comment pissed her off.

  Brigadier Sharpe decided that he suddenly wanted to know more about this walker crew. He took a step down the line coming face to face with a round face private whose dimpled cheeks gave her a cheerful disposition even when she tried to look serious. Despite himself the Brigadier started to smile.

  “Name?” he asked, regaining control.

  Again, with a perfect parade salute the private said “Private Becky Popov Sir!”

  “And what do you do aboard that thing?” the Brigadier asked gesturing towards the walker.

  “I’m Winnie’s loader and radio operator, Sir!” replied Becky.

  “That sounds like a lot to do,” said the Brigadier innocently.

  “The Sergeant likes to keep me busy: Sir,” Becky replied with a ghost of a flirtatious smile.

  ‘There’s always one in every squad,’ thought the Brigadier as he moved on.

  Before he even asked, the next girl also gave a perfect salute and then said, “Private Sarah May. I’m Winnie’s gunner.”

  “That was some excellent shooting private, keeping your nerve while facing enemy armour is not an easy thing,” said the Brigadier, trying not to stare. She was easily the most attractive girl in the platoon with large blue eyes, clean lines to her face and golden blonde hair. It was also just as obvious with the large horn-rimmed glasses and severe bun for her hair, that she was trying very hard to downplay that fact.

  “It was a team effort. Sir!” replied Sarah rejecting the premise that she was somehow more important than anyone else on the team.

  Nodding approval to the very army answer, the Brigadier took another step down the line, so that he was face to face with Chantal.

  “Well by process of elimination you must be the walker’s driver,” he said to the Acadian.

  “Yes Sir! Lance Corporal Chantal Blou,” she replied with just as good a salute as anyone else in the line.

  “Leftenant Colonel Goodbar has been telling me you literally ripped one of the German tanks to shreds. Where did you get so good at beating up the enemy?” the Brigadier asked.

  “I played hockey with my older brothers,” Chantal said with no hint of sarcasm.

  Once again, the Brigadier smiled, “I bet you gave as good as you got,” he said as he remembered his own games of shimmy with his much larger older brothers, and all the bruises and bleeding lips and noses that resulted.

  “I tried Sir,” Chantal replied.

  The two shared another smile, and then the Brigadier moved on to talk with Ida and the rest of the walker crewmen before moving onto to the other components of the support company.

  “Well done Sergeant, your platoon has impressed the Brigadier,” said Lieutenant Colonel Goodbar as he followed up behind the Brigadier.

  “Thank you, Sir,” said Alex a note of caution in her voice; something was definitely up.

  “In fact, you impressed him and some other top brass so much that they feel you and your platoon is perfect for a special assignment. I’ll explain more to both you and your number two later; report to my HQ at 1900 hours.

  “Yes Sir,” replied Alex, realizing that she’d just been ‘volunteered’ for something, which was never a good thing.

  Chapter Three: Lieutenant Johnson

  As Alex entered the Seaforth’s Battalion Headquarters, she knew that something was up. First off, the two Cold Stream Guards were still there in their Galahad armour, as were the two Lone Scots. That meant that both the Brigadier and the British Colonel were still here.

  “What the hell is going on?” asked Ida; the dark-haired sergeant could read the signs of trouble as good as Alex.

  “I’m not sure, but I think we’re about to find out,” replied Alex as a harried Staff Sergeant collected the two young women and ushered them into the Old Man’s office. Sure, enough there was enough brass in the room to start a marching band, with Major Steves, Lieutenant Colonel Goodbar, Brigadier Sharpe, and the still unnamed British Colonel there along with two other majors (one British one Canadian) and the woman 2nd Lieutenant Alex had seen earlier. Military discipline was the only thing that saved the two as they moved into the room, saluted the Brigadier and then stood at rigid attention.

  “At ease ladies,” said Brigadier Sharpe.

  “Sir,” replied Alex, as both she and Ida ‘relaxed’ into an at ease position.

  “Sergeant Mackenzie, given your record, and the lack of a commanding officer of the walker platoon, you would normally be a shoo-in in for being brevetted to 2nd Lieutenant. However, right now you’re more valuable to the Army where you are,” started the Brigadier.

  Alex tried very hard not to let the disappointment show, but she failed to keep it all off of her face. She thought that she had not wanted the commission, but with it being taken away from her, it suddenly felt more important than anything.

  “I can see you’re disappointed and bluntly I don’t blame you. You’re an aggressive leader who isn’t afraid to take the initiative when necessary. We need soldiers like you in command positions,” continued the Brigadier.

  Those words did more to take the sting away than the Brigadier knew. Just soldier, not woman soldier, or female soldier; that one phrase alone meant a lot to the young woman.

  “However, I believe that once you hear your part in a new test program you will understand why you were chosen,” said the Brigadier.

  “Sir?” asked Alex. Okay now she was curious.

  “Ah. I believe that’s my cue. Leftenant Colonel Goodbar, Major Steves, Sergeants, my name is Colonel Blastford. I’m part of His Majesty’s Royal Personnel and Training Board.

  Not waiting for a response, Colonel Blastford continued, “Your army’s experiment with women in combat roles has caused quite a bit of stir at SHAEF. As much for its unorthodox approach to the personnel shortages were all facing, as the fact that it appears to actually be working. That success has caused pressure from certain members of all allied governments to at least do testing of our own regarding how to integrate women into frontline combat roles within our own military organizations.

  “For His Majesty’s Armed Forces these pressures have resulted in us currently retraining two all-female auxiliary antiaircraft batteries and the female components of a service and maintenance battalion into walker crews. The plan currently is to form a walker regiment, equipped with standard variety walkers; including our new Merlin heavy walkers. We’re hoping to give the unit some seasoning by taking the graduates from our first female walker class and adding them to your army’s replacement pool.

  “So, the various battalion and support company commanders are going to do the dirty work of evaluating these crews and making the cuts for you,” said Lieutenant Colonel Goodbar sarcastically.

  “Exactly! As well, you and your Major Steves will have the additional pleasure of evaluating our Leftenant Johnson in her role as the new commander of the Seaforth Highlanders of Canada’s walker platoon,” Said the English Colonel. If he picked up on Goodbar’s sarcasm he didn’t show it.

  With her name finally being used the young woman stepped forward and said to everyone present, in clipped high-class vowels. “I look forward to working with everyone here.”

  **

  Later that night the crew of Winnie sat down together in a local Dutch tavern that catered to the military personnel in the area. Along with the 1st Canadian Division R&R base, two small RAF forward air bases and a Dutch Army base w
ere well within reach of the tavern by car so the place was packed with personnel from at least three different countries and over a dozen different branches of the military. The demand was so high for the simple reason that it was civilian owned. That meant real non-preserved food; prepared by cooks who hadn’t been taught by the army; non-regulation alcohol that wasn’t produced by the lowest bidder; and most importantly, girls who were actually impressed by a non-com’s uniform.

  Needless to say, the place was extremely popular with all the local military personnel. So popular in fact that you needed a special pass to get through the MPs at the village’s edge let alone anywhere near the tavern. Alex and the rest of Winnie’s crew had been given four of the special passes in part as a reward for being Mentioned in Dispatches and as a consolation prize for having to put up with wet nursing a new lieutenant and a Brit at that.

  “Here we go ladies,” said Becky as she put four glasses of Pilsner beer in front of her crewmates. She then turned to Alex and passed the sergeant back her $5 military scrip bill.

  Alex looked perplexed; traditionally she always bought the first round whenever the crew went out as a group.

  “The owner said that it was on the house in light of our award,” said Becky with a bright smile she then added, “As far as I could tell, he was sincere and not shilling for anyone else.”

  “You sure,” asked Chantal before she took a sip from the pale lager. All of the women at the table were well aware of the belief of many of their ‘brothers in uniform’ that buying a girl a drink created obligations later in the evening.

  “Yes I made sure, though if it had been from those American flyboys over there I would have said yes,” said Becky as she nodded her head to a group of five USAAF personnel. Even if they weren’t wearing their wings, their swagger and attitude would have marked the Americans as pilots.

  “How the hell did they rate passes to this place?” asked Sarah as she took a little too long a look at the yanks.

  “Who cares, they’re here. If they ask us to dance, I’m saying yes,” said Becky, a little cheeky. She had never danced or flirted with American pilots and she was bound and determined to change that tonight.

  “Why not go up and ask them to dance?” suggested Alex just before she took a sip of her beer.

  Before Becky could explain yet again to her overly aggressive commander why asking men to dance wasn’t a good idea, the Tavern owner’s daughter Rivka came to their table and placed a large plate of Soused herring onto it.

  “Umm Rivka we didn’t order any food yet,” said Alex.

  “It is a congratulations for your reward by the army. We just got a fresh batch in from the capital and you are certainly entitled to the first order,” said Rivka earnestly. The blonde Dutch girl then gave them all a curtsy and left.

  A large smile broke out onto Chantal’s face as she grabbed one of the lightly pickled raw fish by the tail and proceeded to eat it Dutch style in one piece.

  “And she wonders why she can’t get a date,” said Becky as she watched her crewmate devour what the Dutch considered to be appropriate pub food.

  “These things aren’t any worse than sardines,” said Alex, as she grabbed her own herring and started to eat.

  “And you don’t see me eating those either do you?” replied Becky. Anyways if you excuse me, sergeant I think I’ll take your advice and get one of those flyboys onto the dance floor.

  “Hold on Private, have a herring first,” ordered Alex.

  “Ah but Serge,” whined the dark-haired prairie girl.

  “You will not insult our hosts, especially when it is given to us as an honour,” said Alex.

  Becky sighed, she hated when the Sergeant was right. She glanced over at the very slim Rivka and imagined just how skinny she must have been two years ago, when the Canadian Army had to liberate the country. Having rebelled against the German occupation Holland had nearly been starved to death in retaliation. The situation had been so dire that the Canadians had not only open negotiations with the Germans for a temporary cease fire to stave off millions dying but the German Heer command had agreed. It had been a close thing but the Canadians had managed to pull off a minor miracle and much of the population had been saved.

  It was the common opinion within the Army that the Krauts had agreed so that the Canadians and their allies would expend time and massive resources trying to save civilians without any value to the war effort, and would have to continue to expend resources keeping them alive. They may have been right, but the Canadians didn’t give a shit. Not to save millions of people that could be saved right next to you would have made them too much like the Germans.

  So, with reluctance (not to mention the rest of her pint of beer) Becky ate a raw herring and smiled, while she did it.

  After she finished, Becky had every intention of going to deal with those American airmen. However, just as she was heading off Rivka came back to the table again. Only this time she was carrying a tray with four shot glasses full of jenever, a Dutch flavoured light whiskey that was the only hard liquor that the tavern sold.

  “Rivka, I think the beers and the food were enough congratulations, we can’t accept a round of shots as well,” explained Alex to the waitress.

  “No, no this is not from my vather, this is from the women at that table,” said Rivka pointing to one of the booths.

  Becky was already looking in that general direction so she glanced over and said “Okay, who are they?”

  They were behind Alex so the young sergeant was the last to see who it was. When she did Alex inwardly groaned. “That’s Leftenant Johnson, our new commanding officer, and her walker’s crew,” she said outwardly to her own crew.

  As Alex was talking, the other four young women had gotten up and moved towards where the other walker crew was sitting. All of them also bore shot glasses.

  “Sergeant, I was hoping you’d share a toast with me and my ladies,” said Lieutenant Johnson.

  Alex appreciated the gesture; the Lieutenant was trying to make amends. Lord knew the army was hard enough for women, the last thing they needed right now was for them to be at each other backs.

  “Alright Leftenant Johnson, but what should we drink to?” she asked the dark-haired officer. Alex was interested in hearing what Lieutenant Johnson would say and thereby get a better measure of the woman.

  Chantal answered the question before the British aristocratic officer could reply. “We drink to the men in our lives of course,” she said, being Acadian the last person she wanted to drink to was the British King which had been the obvious choice.

  Her response caused confused looks among the British walker crew, until Alex said, “My driver is talking about our walkers, Ma’am. It’s sort of a running joke among female walker personnel. We refer to them as ‘he’ and joke about they’re the only real men you can completely trust in this man’s army.”

  “That’s a bit cynical isn’t it sergeant?” replied Lieutenant Johnson.

  “Let’s see how cynical she thinks it is after her first shower,” mutter Sarah who after she said it, and realized she’d spoken aloud, added a hasty “Ma’am.”

  To her credit Lieutenant Johnson didn’t respond to Sarah’s comment instead she said “regardless toasting our walkers sounds like an excellent idea: here’s to Sting.”

  “And here’s to Winnie,” said Alex with equal relish.

  All eight women raised their shot glasses and downed the jenever.

  After they’d downed the shots, Lieutenant Johnson turned to a corporal on her crew and said “I believe I heard one of Winne’s crew plans to engage those American Airmen Corporal Cox. Why don’t you and the rest of the crew assist her in that effort?”

  Corporal Cox, who looked to be in her late twenties, which made her by far the oldest woman there, replied “Are you sure Ma’am?”

  “Yes, quite sure corporal,” was the officer’s reply.

  Alex recognized what was going to happen next and was willing to he
lp out. Turning to Sarah and Chantal she said, “You two help Becky dance those airmen’s feet off,” Her tone though still polite, had the air of an order which the other too women rose to obey.

  In a flash, just the Lieutenant and the Sergeant were left at the table.

  Alex sat back and sipped her beer, letting the tension build. She was a woman who was comfortable with silence and more than willing to let the other woman stew.

  “Sergeant I feel that there are a few things that we need to clear up between us,” Lieutenant Johnson said as she finally sat down.

  “Ma’am?” asked Alex.

  “First off, I am sorry that my presence has wrecked your chance for promotion. However, what’s done is done and I am in command of the walker platoon now and I expect the support of my platoon sergeant; of you, when I give my orders,” said the Lieutenant in a gush of words.

  Alex couldn’t help it, but the obvious anxiety of the Lieutenant’s speech made her smile, “You practice that speech for a long time Ma’am,” she said to the officer.

  “For most of the afternoon,” replied the officer with some obvious relief. “Listen, I know I’m green as hell, but I know enough about being an officer to know that I need your support if we’re going to succeed in our missions, and keep everyone alive,” said Lieutenant Johnson. This time the flow of words was at a more normal pace; though they also had an air of earnestness to them.

  “Alright Leftenant I’ll have your back; are you willing to listen to my first piece of advice?” asked Alex.

  The dark curly haired woman just nodded.

  Alex took this time to take another small sip of her beer. Despite just knocking back a shot of hard liquor, Alex wasn’t a heavy drinker and she would nurse this pint for the rest of the night. Putting down the beer, she said “Your job is making sure the battalion succeeds in its mission. My job is making sure that everyone has the highest chance of surviving that is possible. Do not confuse the two. As well, keep in mind that we both can do our job perfectly and our people are still going to die. That’s the nature of war; of life. Forget that and you’ll shatter and make it that much harder for the rest of us. Remember a lot of people in this battalion, hell this army are just itching to see us fail, if a man cries over a fallen buddy, it’s no big thing, losing a friend is tough. You shed a tear; and it’s proof that all women are too emotional to stand up to the stresses of combat,” Alex’s eyes turned hard, and she said “Do you understand this?”