The Sharp End (Raiding Forces Book 10)

by Phil Ward

  “On the other hand . . .”

  • • •

  Captain Billy Jack Jaxx came around behind the bleachers where he had seen Colonel John Randal and Waldo Treywick disappear.

  “Sir,” Capt. Jaxx said. “The Five-Seven-Five has a twenty-man I&R platoon. Looks pretty good—so does their platoon leader, Lieutenant Clint Hays. Can I have ’em?”

  “What?”

  “The Intelligence and Reconnaissance platoon, sir,” Capt. Jaxx said. “For my Pathfinder team.”

  “Do you need that many men?”

  “Major McCloud mentioned there’s two or three hangars on the airstrip at Fort No. 9,” Capt. Jaxx said. “After the Pathfinders mark the DZ, sir, we can move out and secure ’em for you, sir.”

  “Make yourself happy, Jack,” Col. Randal said. “Clear it with Major McCloud—he’s drafting the plan.”

  “Yes, sir,” Capt. Jaxx said. “Dynamite Dick wants to strap hang.”

  “Who?”

  “Lieutenant Coogan,” Capt. Jaxx said. “The new demolitions officer who came out with the last group of American Volunteers.”

  “That’s fine,” Col. Randal said, thinking his young captain was doing some talent spotting. Good for him. “Coogan can use the experience.”

  “Transferring to the CIC, Mr. Treywick?” Capt. Jaxx said. “I’d hate to be a Nazi spy with you and Mandy on the case.”

  “Ain’t really a counterintelligence man full-time, Jack,” Waldo said. “I’m what you might call the Raiding Forces auxiliary spook.”

  “Scare the hell out of people,” Capt. Jaxx said, “wearing U.S. brass with no rank insignia—they’ll think you’re coming for ’em.”

  Col. Randal said, “That’s the plan.”

  The Warning Order concluded. A mad rush ensued to clear the bleachers. There were a million things the troops had to get done to prepare for the mission.

  Jumpmasters from the Five-Seven-Five (there were plenty of qualified jumpmasters on their roster) had to be briefed. Then they were to be linked up with the individual C-47 they would jumpmaster, from the 37th Airlift Squadron flying the mission. The jumpmasters had to conduct an aircraft inspection on the plane their stick would be jumping from. Maps were to be issued, ammunition drawn, weapons test-fired, radio operators had to conduct commo checks, rations, water, and on and on.

  An Army Air Corps major from the 37th Airlift Squadron arrived to consult with Col. Randal. This was a big change of mission for the USAAF. Considering tonight would be a history-making event, Army Air wanted to get it right. After outlining the mission, Col. Randal passed him off to Maj. McCloud for a detailed briefing.

  The men of the Five-Seven-Five were down on the beach in their tents, frantically packing and repacking their personal gear. No one wanted to forget anything. The paratroopers had trained a long time for their first combat jump, and now it was coming at them fast.

  Bayonets were sharpened. Weapons given one last cleaning—no such thing as being too sure. Hand grenades were issued.

  While the paratroopers worked, off-duty Raiders were wandering through the tents observing, passing out the occasional word of encouragement, and critically evaluating the U.S. Army-issue equipment. The weapon in the Five-Seven-Five inventory that attracted the most attention from the desert veterans was the M-1 rifle.

  None of the Raiders had ever seen anything like it before—and they were impressed.

  The Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR) was thoroughly scrutinized. The jury was out. The Raiders had a high opinion of the BAR’s British counterpart—the BREN.

  Everyone agreed the reserve parachutes were a nice touch.

  Colonel Bonner Fellers finally put in a belated appearance. He apologized for the Five-Seven-Five. The captain of the troop transport carrying the regiment had cabled him concerning the low state of the troops before the ship docked.

  Col. Fellers had been embarrassed to show up when they arrived.

  “It’ll be fine, I’m not looking for choir boys,” Col. Randal said, “Lady Jane says she loves ’em.”

  “She must see something I don’t,” Col. Fellers said. “Airborne Command at Benning really did a number on us.

  “If Captain Jaxx is available, I’d like to speak to him, Colonel.”

  Col. Randal said to Lieutenant Mandy Paige, “Round up Roy and Jack.”

  Lieutenant Roy Kidd arrived first. While they waited, Col. Randal asked Col. Fellers to swear him in to the United States Army in the grade of captain.

  “We can perform the ritual and draw up the paperwork later,” Col. Fellers said, “Congratulations, Captain Kidd—welcome to the United States Army.”

  “Backdate it to the same date as Billy Jack’s,” Col. Randal said “Same date of rank.”

  When Lt. Mandy returned with Capt. Jaxx in tow, Col. Fellers said, “I received a telegram from General MacArthur yesterday—he and his family departed Corregidor for Australia by PT boat last night.

  “One of his last acts before leaving the Rock was to award you, Colonel Randal, the Distinguished Service Cross and you, Captain Jaxx, the Silver Star for your ‘daring rescue mission.’ King is set to receive a substantial cash bonus.”

  “You’re joking, sir,” Capt. Jaxx said. “The bravest thing I did was party with the Clipper Girls.”

  Jack Cool.

  “Whatever transpired,” Col. Fellers said, “the general has spoken.”

  “‘Smiling Jack,’ the Huk bandit, was mentioned in his letter to me, Colonel. We shall have to have a conversation about that one day soon,” Col. Fellers said. “I’ve been wanting to hear your version of events for years.”

  Col. Randal said, “Not much to it.”

  “On another matter,” Col. Fellers said, “what’s the status of the original American Volunteer Group personnel? I have instructions to re-enlist them as soon as possible.”

  Col. Randal said, “There hasn’t been time to meet with the AVG men to discuss their plans. Most have been pressed into service for the drop tonight as ‘stiffeners’ for the Five-Seven-Five.”

  “Keep in mind,” Col. Fellers said, “that as an incentive for re-enlistment, we will promote anyone you recommend.”

  “Count on, as a minimum,” Col. Randal said, “advancing everyone at least one grade as part of the package. We may want to give a few people direct commissions.”

  “Consider it done.”

  • • •

  Brandy and Captain Penelope “Legs” Honeycutt-Parker were working to build a giant sand table of the objective for the Operations Order. They had both been with White Patrol when it attacked Fort No. 9. The two made sure every detail was absolutely to scale and correct.

  Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy, who had been there as well, stopped by to inspect their work and make a suggestion or two.

  What the women came up with was one of the best terrain maps of its type Col. Randal had ever seen, to include those at Achnacarry—the Special Warfare Training Center. Major Travis McCloud, who had also been on the first attack on Fort No. 9—charging the fort with Col. Randal in an aviation gas fuel truck with a landmine strapped on the rear bumper and a lit detonator, declared the sand table the equal of anything he had seen at the Infantry School.

  A five-foot pointer was not available at RFHQ, so a bamboo fishing pole was pressed into service for the briefing. Brandy had a foot-long portion of the tip painted red.

  A lot of attention was being paid to detail.

  The rattle of gunfire commenced. The Five-Seven-Five were moving by platoon to an improvised range on the beach to test-fire their weapons. Sounds of the firing ratcheted up the tension in the air.

  Colonel Dudley Clarke came by with a team of photographers. “Excellent idea, Colonel—clipping the regiment’s name to 575th Rangers. The other side will never know what it means. I can work with that.”

  “Good.”

  James “Baldie” Taylor said, “I shall be dropping with your command element tonight, Colonel.”

&nbs
p; “Glad to have you, General.”

  Col. Randal and Maj. McCloud went over the Operations Order. The two spent an hour working through the plan from start to finish. No one was allowed to interrupt them—Col. Randal was scheduled to brief and he wanted to make sure he understood every last detail of the Mission Statement and Concept of the Operation. He would leave the rest up to Maj. McCloud.

  Then, Col. Randal, Maj. McCloud and Major Everard Beauchamp went over the list of officers who were going to command the various support and maneuver elements. The plan called for Raiding Forces officers to command the maneuver elements, while Five-Seven-Five officers were in command of all the support elements.

  Col. Randal issued the Operations Order at 1500 hours. It was a tour-de-force. With the 575th Rangers assembled in the bleachers, working without notes, he walked the Rangers through everything that was going to happen from the time the briefing ended until the troops linked up with the convoy at the Rally Point to transport them back to RFHQ following the mission.

  He kept it short and simple.

  The 575th Rangers would drop on the airstrip adjoining Fort No. 9. The battalion was broken down into two elements—a three-company Assault element under Maj. McCloud and a Support element consisting of the HQ company under Maj. Beauchamp. The support element contained all four of the Five-Seven-Five’s 81mm mortars and all eight of the .30 cal. 1919 Browning Light MGs. On signal, the mortars would conduct a fire mission against Fort No. 9. The MGs would lay down suppressive fire.

  Then, on signal from Col. Randal—three green flares—the mortars would shift their fire to the palm grove behind the fort, the MGs would cease fire and Maj. McCloud would assault the objective.

  Fort No. 9 was so small only A/575 Rangers under Captain Roy Kidd would make the attack. B and C companies would lay down covering fire with their organic weapons—M1s, BARs and Thompson submachine guns. Then the two companies would shift their fire to the palm grove behind the fort on signal from Maj. McCloud—a red flare.

  Once the fort was secured, the Five-Seven-Five would assemble on the DZ and immediately move out on a forced march to the ORP where they would rendezvous with a convoy of trucks under Major Jack Merritt.

  Operations Orders do not get much simpler. Every man understood exactly what was expected of him. The plan that had been crafted was a simplified version of what the Infantry School called a “holding attack.” The Five-Seven-Five knew it well.

  As soon as Col. Randal completed the order, the officers in charge of the various elements took command of their troops and immediately moved out into the desert to conduct rehearsals. Time was limited. The Five-Seven-Five was scheduled to board a convoy to the departure airfield at 1730 hours.

  • • •

  Veronica Paige was in charge of preparing the manifests at the Departure Airfield. She had four tents set up, one for each company of the 575th Rangers. Royal Marines were manning typewriters as the troops filed through. The men each gave their name, rank, serial number, and chalk number when they reached a typist. The girls made the typewriters sound like machine guns.

  Everywhere on the airfield, troops were on the move.

  Colonel John Randal and Major the Lady Jane Seaborn arrived in a jeep with Waldo and Lieutenant Mandy Paige in the back seat. The sun was beginning to go down when they pulled up. The desert quickly started to cool.

  Lieutenant Pamala Plum-Martin could be seen talking to Captain Billy Jack Jaxx and Lieutenant Richard “Dynamite Dick” Coogan. When Col. Randal walked over, she said, “Here are aerial photos of Fort No. 9 taken four hours ago, John.

  “Ninth Air Force sent a photo reconnaissance plane over. They were delighted to have the opportunity to fly a recon mission in support of an Air Corps combat operation—this degree of inter-service cooperation shall not last forever.”

  Col. Randal glanced at the photos. The fort looked exactly the same as the last time he had seen the place, except the metal hangars were a lot worse for wear, having been shot up by Vickers K MGs and scorched with aviation fuel.

  There were three trucks parked by the hangars, and the aviation fuel tanker had been replaced. No aircraft were in sight. Fort No. 9 was a remote emergency landing strip, not an active airfield.

  “OK, Jack,” Col. Randal said, “you’re up to something?”

  Capt. Jaxx said, “How about a do-over, sir—missed the first one.”

  “I knew you were going to be trouble tonight,” Col. Randal said. “Go talk to Maj. McCloud.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Pam,” Col. Randal asked, “will you be dropping the Pathfinders in the Hudson?”

  “Negative,” the Vargas Girl-looking Royal Marine said. “Ronnie acquired a C-47 for the Pathfinders. The assistant squadron commander is flying right seat for me—I get a check ride in a Dakota, dropping Jack.”

  “All right, I won’t give the Pathfinders another thought, then,” Col. Randal said. “They’re in good hands.”

  Captain “Geronimo” Joe McKoy strolled over. He and Col. Randal stepped off a short distance for a private conversation.

  “What’s your impression of Major Beauchamp so far, Captain?” Col. Randal asked.

  “Real Southern gentleman,” Capt. McKoy said. “I think we’re gonna like him, John.”

  “Jack intends to secure the hangars—make sure the support element doesn’t fire on ’em,” Col. Randal said, handing him a copy from the stack of aerial photos Lt. Plum-Martin had given him.

  “Think about using these three trucks parked next to the hangars to transport the wounded, heavy equipment, parachutes and the AVG men when we pull out.”

  “That works,” Capt. McKoy said.

  “I’ll have you and Mr. Treywick take charge of the AVG men for the return trip. Ride to the Rally Point in comfort,” Col. Randal said.

  “The rest of the Five-Seven-Five is in for a spirited desert march—King’s setting the pace.”

  “Ain’t gonna be as much as a single bullet hole in them trucks,” Capt. McKoy said, “I’ll guarantee you that. Plannin’ on puttin’ the hurt on those Ranger boys, John?”

  “That is a fact.”

  “King’ll get their attention,” Capt. McKoy said. “Them Rangers’ll learn to never squat with their spurs on when he gets done with ’em.”

  Col. Randal said, “Make sure you’re on one of the trucks.”

  • • •

  Colonel John Randal and Major the Lady Jane Seaborn drove around to each of the C-47 Dakota aircraft. The men were chuted up, lying on their parachutes waiting for their final jumpmaster inspection before boarding the jump aircraft. Tension was in the air. When Col. Randal and Lady Jane arrived at each airplane, the men would attempt to struggle to their feet, but Col. Randal always ordered—“As you were.”

  “You men all know your job,” Col. Randal said, telling every stick the same thing, hoping it was true. He was getting ready to find out. “Follow your orders, be alert.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  Col. Randal and Lady Jane ended up at Chalk 1, Stick 1, which he would be jump mastering. With the exception of Jim, he did not know a single person who would be on the aircraft.

  Col. Randal worked his way down the line of paratroopers who were reclining on their chutes. Each jumper had to stand up and go through a final jumpmaster inspection. He took his time. The inspections were like reading Braille—feeling with his fingers for things he could not see with his eyes.

  Col. Randal could do the inspection with his eyes shut. In fact, he trained blindfolded.

  The jumpmaster inspection is a personal thing between the jumper being inspected and the officer or NCO doing the inspecting. The idea being for the person undergoing inspection not to have any deficiencies at this late stage and for the jumpmaster to demonstrate a high degree of professionalism—thus gaining the trust of the men he was going to be in charge of on board the aircraft.

  It also gave Col. Randal a chance to joke with each of the paratroopers—hoping t
o bring down the tension level of men who were getting ready to go into battle for the first time. At this point, it was impossible to tell the original members of the Five-Seven-Five from the men who had been let out of jail and forced to involuntarily volunteer to join the regiment before it sailed.

  The immediate threat of combat has a way of forging a unified outfit out of a group of misfits that all the training missions in the world cannot accomplish.

  When he finished inspecting the last man in the stick, it was almost time for Lieutenant Pamala Plum-Martin to depart with the Pathfinders. They would be taking off twenty minutes before the main body. Col. Randal walked over to her C-47 to check on Captain Billy Jack Jaxx and the I&R platoon serving as Pathfinders.

  The paratroopers were chuted up, sitting around in a semi-circle beside the Dakota, with Capt. Jaxx in the center. Facing the stick, he was reclined back on his parachute, holding court. It was apparent that although the young captain had had only a short while to work with the platoon, the men were comfortable having him in command tonight.

  “Capt. Jaxx,” Col. Randal said, taking pains to treat his Pathfinder commander with exaggerated courtesy in front of his troops. “Ready to go?”

  It was not really a question.

  Jack Cool was always ready to go.

  “Yes, sir,” Capt. Jaxx said. “Lieutenant Coogan and I worked out that other thing we talked about with Major McCloud.”

  “Good,” Col. Randal said. “See you men on the DZ.”

  The I&R platoon chorused, “Airborne, sir!”

  One element of the Five-Seven-Five was clearly already feeling like they were a part of Raiding Forces. Capt. Jaxx had worked his magic. He was that caliber of leader.

  Lady Jane, Lt. Mandy and a couple of the Clipper Girls arrived in a jeep to see the Pathfinders off. Colonel Dudley Clarke was there with his photographers and film crew recording the event.

  While the girls chatted up the paratroopers, Col. Randal jogged back to his stick and chuted up—he was cheating tonight. Lieutenant Karen Montgomery had packed an X-type parachute for him. The U.S. T-4 had a vicious opening shock. And the U.S. harness did not have a quick-release system—jumpers had to unbuckle the heavy canvas straps (which was impossible under some conditions, such as being wet—not likely in the desert—or being dragged by high winds—which was a real possibility).