by C T Glatte
“Well shit, guess i’ll charge the first machine gun nest I come to then. Better’n going to the poor-house.” He leaned back on the bunk. It was one of hundreds stacked three high in tight rows. He lost interest in the card game and fidgeted with his M1 Garand for the thousandth time.
Hank shook his head. He was lying on the bed, Jimmy sat on. They were all dressed in their dirty white tank tops. Despite the chilly weather outside, the hold seemed to have it’s own weather; hot and sticky. “You’re gonna wear that thing out before you fire your first shot.”
Jimmy nodded and put the weapon back against the bunk. “You’re probably right.” He ran his hands through his greasy hair. “Just going stir-crazy down here. I mean how long can this shit last?”
Hank answered, “Just be glad we’re not going transatlantic or something. This is nothing, like a damned day-trip.”
“How you feeling anyway?” Hank’s sea sickness was intense the first day but he seemed to have turned a corner.
He shrugged, “Still feel it. My guts hurt from puking, but there’s nothing left to come up.” He took a careful slug of water. “I’ll be as weak as a kitten when we land, but one good meal and i’ll be good as new.” He had to swallow quickly at the thought of food. He shook his head, willing himself to keep the water from coming up. “Just wanna get the hell outta here.”
The speakers crackled to life, sending a loud, piercing shriek through the hold, making the GIs cover their ears. Finally, a voice crackled through. “Now hear this, now hear this. Colonel Selkins.”
Another voice addressed them. “Men, this is Colonel Selkins. We are moving into position to offload. We’re steaming into Anchorage, Alaska. The front is nearby, but we’ll be landing on friendly ground. Be ready to fight, though. The Russians have been pushing hard and they may hit us with artillery and from the air. The order of the day is to get off this ship ASAP and get to cover. Listen to your officers and your noncoms. They know what to do. You’re all trained for this.” There was a pause and not a sound could be heard except the steady thumping of the engines. “It’s time to take the fight to the enemy. I’m proud of each and every one of you and know you’ll do the Army, your country and God, proud. Now by God, let’s go kill some Russians.”
There was a roar of approval, mostly at the prospect of getting some fresh air, even if it were laced with Russian artillery.
the next two hours were organized chaos as the 45th Infantry Division offloaded from the troop transport. Huge side doors were lowered from the side of the ship and hundreds of tanks, artillery pieces, jeeps and anti-tank cannons were offloaded.
Jimmy and the rest of the men offloaded topside, streaming from the doors in single file. It wasn’t the most efficient means of departure and the waiting was agonizing, but soon they were outside. Jimmy took in deep breath of the cool air. It was early evening and he felt a chill despite it being September. He adjusted his pack and followed the steadily moving line off the ship then onto the sturdy gangplank, then onto land.
Despite the colonel’s words the process seemed slow and steady rather than hurried. Jimmy watched the sky, searching for any sign of enemy aircraft. Since being bombed and strafed, he didn’t like being exposed. He asked a sergeant where the nearest air-raid trench was and he shrugged, not knowing. Jimmy whispered to Hank, “Dammit, I don’t like this one little bit.” Hank nodded back.
They shuffled along until they were broken up into companies, then platoons. Dark was closing in. They were making their way through the port and into a parklike setting, when the night was shattered with a terrifying whistling sound. The column stopped and Jimmy looked up. Someone yelled, “Incoming! Take cover!”
Men ran in every direction. Jimmy took off to the left and dove into a ditch beside the road. He held his helmet close over his head and waited. The ditch had a cold inch of water and he felt it seeping through his clothes. He felt the first impact and was immediately reminded of the bombs from the fighters, but these were more ominous somehow, for they seemed to move closer and closer. In the fading light he could see the thin stream of water mixing with mud beneath his nose. It reminded him of chocolate milk and he suddenly yearned for the safety and quiet of a Saturday morning with his parents.
The shells landed closer and closer. The ground shook beneath him and he felt his breath leave his lungs. He gasped but couldn’t get air. A near miss made his ears ring, blocking every other sound. He could still feel the impacts in his bones. He thought he’d rattle apart, like his ribs would separate and his insides would turn to jelly and flow out his belly button.
The shells continued to fall, but seemed to be moving away, like a violent passing storm. He heard his voice through the ringing and realized he was yelling. Debris rained down, covering him in an inch of dirt and dust. A large chunk of something smacked into his back and he winced, but it stopped his yell. He took his hands from his helmet and peered out. The clear evening air was laced with the smell of cordite and smoke. He could see swirling tendrils drifting across the ground like a sinister fog.
The barrage stopped and he shook his head, feeling the dirt cascade off and run down the collar of his shirt. He lifted his shoulders and peered ahead. The soles of another soldier’s boots were only inches away. He looked behind him and saw another soldier, still down, still cringing.
Jimmy reached up and slapped the boots in front of him. “That you Hank?” He hadn’t noticed which way his friend had gone when the fireworks started. There was no reaction. Jimmy pulled himself onto his knees and had a look around. The road they’d been walking along was covered in rocks and chunks of smoldering wood. He could see a large crater thirty yards away. The road was simply gone in that spot, as if it had sunk into the ground. He shook his head, that must be the one that took my air.
He slapped the soldier again and got no response. He moved forward, “Hank?” His breath came up short as he moved, noticing the soldier’s head was beneath a large chunk of concrete. Jimmy felt bile threatening to rise up. He put his hand over his mouth and leaned away from the gore. “Oh my God, no! Oh my God!” He forced himself forward and noticed the stripes on the soldier’s sleeve. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and sat down heavily. He removed his helmet and ran his hands through his hair. He took another look at the dead sergeant and immediately felt guilty for feeling glad it wasn’t Hank. He lurched forward and puked on his boots.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he wiped his mouth and looked up to see Hank staring down at him. His face was nearly black with soot and grime. His uniform sleeve was torn and his fingers had droplets of blood dripping off.
Jimmy scrambled to his feet, feeling dizzy. He clutched Hank’s shoulder to steady himself. They teetered back and forth staring at each other. Jimmy finally uttered, “Thought that was you. Thought you’d bought it for sure.”
Other men were getting to their feet. Men from other areas scrambled to help with casualties. The ringing in Jimmy’s ears subsided a little and he could hear men screaming. Hank finally responded, “They - they can’t kill me before I’ve had a chance to kill them.” He shook his head, “That’s twice now.”
Jimmy leaned down and picked up his rifle. It was covered in dirt. He slung it over his shoulder and they walked along the street, leaning on one another. When they got to the crater, they were forced to go around and couldn’t help noticing what was left of the GIs who’d chosen that ground for cover. It was difficult to tell where one man ended and another started. Jimmy muttered, “My God in heaven, those poor guys.”
Hank shook his head. “I don’t think God has anything to do with that mess.” They continued away from the harbor. More and more GIs joined them and soon they were marching in loose formation. They had no idea where they were going, just continuing to move the way they were before the artillery strike.
Before long they were being led by an officer. Jimmy recognized him as Lieutenant Little. The artillery had shaken Jimmy to his bones, but slo
wly the fog he seemed to be in lifted and he was able to do more than just put one foot in front of the other. “Where you think he’s taking us?”
They no longer leaned on one another. Hank shrugged, “Somewhere to bivouac I’m guessing? Getting damned dark out here.” The lights of Anchorage off to their right were out despite the coming darkness. It gave the town an eery, abandoned feeling. “Think the locals have left?”
Hank shrugged, “I don’t know. I would.”
They walked for a few minutes before they were out of the developed area. They came to a field and Jimmy realized he was looking at an airfield. He could see thick concrete hangars which he supposed housed aircraft. He pointed, “I wonder if that’s what the Russian’s were aiming at?”
Private Penny walking behind him answered, “Those bastards were aiming at us. Must have a spotter somewhere.”
Lt. Little halted them and conferred with another officer. A few minutes passed before he called to them. “We’re sleeping here. Get your entrenching tools out and dig foxholes.” A groan went up from the men and Lt. Little put his fists on his hips. “Unless you want to be exposed when the Russkies send us more welcoming fireworks. Now spread out. I want at least ten feet between holes and two men per hole. Dig ‘em well, ladies we may be here a day or two.” He bellowed for his sergeants to form up.
Jimmy and Hank slid their packs off and rustled around until they found their small folding shovels. They looked for a likely spot and started digging. Jimmy grinned, “Wonder how many more of these we’ll have to dig?”
“Hopefully not many,” replied Hank.
Jimmy and Hank were happy with their hole. The loamy ground made for easy digging and they sat on either side slurping spaghetti from K-ration containers that had been delivered for dinner. Hank licked his spoon, “Well, it’s not like the navy food, but at least I’ll be able to keep it down.”
Jimmy nodded, “Yeah, it’s not too bad.” He pointed at the white bandage shining on Hank’s right forearm. “How’s the arm?”
Hank shrugged, “It’s fine, bled a lot, but it’s pretty minor. At least that’s what the medic said.”
“Wonder if you’ll get a Purple Heart?”
Sergeant Higgin’s voice barked from the darkness. “Keep your traps shut. Russians can hear you a mile away.”
Jimmy smiled at Hank as he pretended to imitate the surly sergeant, mouthing his words. Hank finished his meal, dropped into the hole and lay onto the poncho covering the bottom. He put his hands behind his head. “It’ll be a good night for stargazing.”
Jimmy looked up and agreed. “Yeah, this is a beautiful spot.” The stars were shining down lighting up his face. “Wonder if there’ll be northern lights. Have you heard of those?”
Hank was about to answer when there was a distant thump followed by a whistling. Jimmy dropped his K-ration can and dropped into the hole. There was yelling all around, “Incoming!”
Jimmy pulled his helmet low and tried to become one with Mother Earth. The ground shook with the distant impacts. “Doesn’t sound close,” Jimmy muttered, hopefully.
The barrage ended ten-minutes later. the final shots were closer, but not like earlier. Jimmy punched Hank’s shoulder and he flinched. “We dug a good hole.” Hank nodded. He was clutching his M1 like it was his mother. Jimmy pretended not to notice. He got to his feet and poked his head over the side. He looked north, toward the airfield. He could see small fires and embers on the far side. “Looks like they hit the airfield. Something’s on fire, but doesn’t look bad, I guess.” He could see silhouettes of men darting back and forth across the fires. “They’re already dousing them.” He glanced down at Hank. He could hardly see him in the darkness of the hole, but he hadn’t moved and still hugged his M1. “Hey, you okay?”
Hank seemed to jolt from a nightmare. He looked up and Jimmy could see his wide eyes. Hank muttered, “Yeah, I, I’m fine.” He shook his head and got to his feet. He joined Jimmy on the side. He shook his head, “I don’t know what happened there. Felt like I couldn’t move, like I couldn’t make myself move at all.”
Jimmy nodded. “Don’t sweat it. After the pasting we took back in town, it’s no wonder. I fucking hate that artillery.”
Hank answered with more gusto in his voice, “I just want to get the chance to fight those bastards before being blown to smithereens.”
Nine
Private Crandall and Gugliani walked single-file along the side of the highway traveling northwest. Tanks and towed artillery streamed past them, grinding up the road. There’d been no more artillery after the initial strike on the airfield and they’d each gotten a decent night’s sleep considering they spent it in the bottom of a hole in the ground.
They’d been rousted long before dawn, ordered to eat and be ready to march in fifteen minutes.
After trudging for an hour the sun came up, giving them a show of pinks and reds against the clouds. “Wow, look at that sunrise. It’s like a painting, doesn’t even look real,” exclaimed Jimmy. Hank gazed at it, but didn’t respond. He was concentrating on each step, dreading where it was taking them.
Finally, the column of tanks and trucks slowed and Lieutenant Little ordered them to mount the M4-Shermans and any other vehicles passing by.
Jimmy whooped, “Hot damn. I’ve always wanted to ride one of these beasts.” He trotted to the nearest Sherman. It was already being mobbed by soldiers. He got a hand up, careful not to get his feet too close to the tank treads. Once up, he reached out and helped more soldiers, until the top was crowded.
Jimmy and Hank sat beside each other, right behind the tank’s turret. The tank commander, a staff sergeant scowled at them. “If we take fire, get off quick, we’ll have to maneuver and won’t wait for you to dismount.” He grinned, “Don’t wanna grind you under the treads so get off and move away. Got it?”
Jimmy and Hank nodded, “Got it, Sergeant.”
The ride gave them a chance to take in their surroundings. The mountains off to their right were breathtaking. Even in September there were spots of snow on the barren, craggy peaks. They passed beside bays and creeks and rivers. Jimmy thought they must be teeming with fish, but there was no one fishing. In fact the only civilians he’d seen were moving in the opposite direction, toward Anchorage. They had hollow, scared faces and he realized they were refugees, American refugees. The thought chilled him. The war was close.
They finally entered the tiny town of Wasila. It seemed to be abandoned by civilians but there was an Army refueling station and the tanks and trucks cued up to fill their thirsty fuel tanks.
Lieutenant Little ordered them to dismount, fill their canteens and get some chow. It was mid-morning but the march had sparked Jimmy’s appetite. He sat on a boulder and dug into a K-ration, along with other GIs from his platoon. Jimmy took in the scenery. “Sure is beautiful here. I’ll bet there’s tons of fish with all this water. Salmon and Steelhead and Trout, I’ll bet. Probably even more than home.”
There was a distant sound of rumbling in the distance and each man stopped eating and listened. Jimmy stood and glanced northwest. The rumblings continued and increased. The thick trees kept him from seeing far, but he could feel the ground shudder slightly with the impacts. Jimmy looked at the others and was glad he wasn’t going out there alone. He looked at the half-eaten stew. His appetite was gone.
The sudden roar of aircraft overhead made everyone dive for cover, until Sergeant Collins yelled, “They’re ours.”
Jimmy watched the sleek fighters lancing north. He said, “Must be from the airfield we slept beside.” He lifted his fist, “Go get ‘em guys.”
“Mount up,” barked Sergeant Collins. “Next stop’s the front line, ladies.”
Jimmy looked at Hank and the others. Each man stared from one to another. Jimmy felt his mouth go dry and he suddenly couldn’t swallow. Corporal Kentworthy broke the spell. “Ok, let’s go.”
Jimmy trotted to the nearest Sherman, different from the last one and mounted it fr
om the back. He glanced at the tank commander, another Staff Sergeant. The tanker chewed a wet stogie and looked like he could eat metal. Jimmy got as close to the turret as possible, making room for the rest of third squad.
The tank lurched forward but this time they kept generous spacing. The Sergeant had his goggles down and his hands on the handles of the mounted .30 caliber machine gun. Jimmy looked at Hank and pulled his rifle off his shoulder. Hank licked his dry lips and did the same.
Corporal Kentworthy looked up from his map and pointed ahead. “Last I heard, the front’s up near a little town called, Willow. It’s about twenty-five miles from here.”
The sudden roar of an aircraft made them all look up. Over the treetops they saw a plane coming. It was spewing black smoke from the engine, and there were spurts of orange flame, licking the undercarriage. It passed over close enough to make them duck. Jimmy could plainly see the star of the United States. It flashed over the road and disappeared. Seconds later there was a fireball. The sound of rending metal and igniting fuel rippled over them.
The tank commander continued watching the road ahead, ignoring the descending black smoke. He said something into his radio and Jimmy heard the grinding whir of the tank’s turret moving to cover the left side of the road.
Jimmy strained to hear the sound of battle, but the noise from the column of tanks and trucks was too loud.
The close trees parted and the road entered a meadowed area. Being suddenly in the open made the GIs nervous, but the tanks continued grinding forward. Hank punched his shoulder and when he had his attention, pointed behind. The trucks were pulling off the road, towing their 105mm howitzers. Jimmy blew out a long breath and nodded. He leaned toward Hank’s ear, “Must be getting close.”
The column slowed. Third squad’s tank was tenth from the front. The meadow they’d passed was the first of many and Jimmy could see the landscape opening up. He took in a sharp breath when he saw smoke and plumes of fire ahead. He pointed, but the entire squad was already staring. The Shermans to the front suddenly increased speed and spread out. The tank commander spoke into his mic then looked back at Corporal Kentworthy, and growled, “Get your squad off my girl.”