by C T Glatte
Private First Class Penny thrust his canteen into his hand. “Take mine, I’ve got two. Yours looks like a casualty.” Jimmy nodded thanks and unscrewed the lid and drank deeply. Water never tasted so good.
“All right, get ready. Follow my lead,” yelled Sergeant Collins. Despite just drinking, Jimmy felt his mouth go dry.
He put his foot on the step and peeked over the edge. There were maneuvering tank silhouettes everywhere he looked, some on fire some firing. He glanced toward Hank whose face was lit up by the fires and flares. He was staring toward the ridge, flinching with each explosion. Jimmy could see his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth. Jimmy reached out and slapped his side. Hank jolted and looked over. Jimmy grinned, “Just like stealing second base.” Hank grinned back and nodded.
Sergeant Collins leaped from the trench and yelled, “Go, go, go!” Without another thought, Jimmy lunged out of the trench and before he knew it he was sprinting into the open. He had to weave back and forth to avoid multiple bodies. He tried not to look at the soldier’s dead staring eyes.
He pumped his legs, holding his M1 rifle in front. Off to the right the tank battle raged. GIs were on either side of him, sprinting for all they were worth. There was no yelling, no screaming charge, just soldiers crossing open ground with a purpose.
Jimmy passed a burning M4 Sherman tank husk. It had lost its turret and Jimmy thought he could see the shapes of burned men, but didn’t stop to investigate. He weaved around it, glad for the fleeting cover. So far they hadn’t been targeted. There were a few passing bullets, but he figured it was stray shots from the tank battle. He got to the road and realized he was halfway across.
His lungs burned like fire and his legs were starting to feel heavy. He slowed, realizing he was getting ahead of the main line. Over the sound of his own heavy breathing, he heard other GIs straining and cursing. The slanting ground leading to the ridge was just ahead and they hadn’t been shot at yet.
Jimmy made it to the what he supposed was the bottom of the ridge. He slowed more until he was trotting. Now what? He looked for Hank and saw him ten yards away staring back at him with wide eyes. He saw him looking and flashed a grin and a thumbs-up. He heard Sergeant Collins off to his left panting out an order. “Hold here. Wait for the others.”
Jimmy crouched and made a quick glance behind. He could see the rest of the platoon running to join the position. He refocused on the top of the ridge. It was only another hundred yards to the top and they hadn’t come across any resistance. Did they really abandon the ridge?
A minute passed and he caught his breath. GI’s from his own 4th Platoon and the leading edge of 3rd Platoon kept coming. Collins barked, “Move forward.” Jimmy came out of his crouch and took the first step up the ridge. The light from the flares weren’t as bright here and he strained to distinguish forms through the shifting shadows. The ground was churned like a plowed field from multiple artillery strikes over the past days. It made for difficult walking, but also offered plenty of craters to dive into at the first hint of enemy fire.
Third Platoon was halfway up the ridge when a Russian machine gun opened up to Jimmy’s right. The sudden onslaught froze him in place for an instant, but the snapping of nearby bullets forced him to dive into the nearest crater. He scrambled to the bottom and clutched his rifle as another machine gun nest opened up from his left. He could hear screaming GIs, the sound turning his insides cold.
He scrambled to the forward lip of the crater and poked his head over. He could see the muzzle flashes of the gun emplacements. He was in the center of advance. The guns were firing on the flanks, effectively pinning the GIs. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired at the muzzle flashes to the right until his clip pinged, then ducked back down and reloaded.
Someone flopped into the crater with him and Jimmy recognized PFC Penny. Jimmy watched him crawl forward until he was beside him. In a calm voice, he asked, “What do you see?”
Jimmy tried to match Mack Penny’s calm but failed. His voice was breathless and high-pitched, “Machine guns on either flank.”
Mack nodded and slapped his shoulder. “You’re alright.” He pushed past him and peeked over the crater. After a few seconds he dropped back down. Another soldier entered the crater, breathing hard and whimpering. Mack looked at him and in the same calm voice said, “You’re safe for the moment Private Jantz.”
Jimmy looked at the shaking GI and gave him a forced grin. He heard Hank off to the right, “Jimmy! You okay?”
Jimmy yelled back. “I’m okay. Keep your head down, Hank.” Bullets snapped over the hole and Jimmy’s eyes were temporarily dazzled with a passing tracer round.
“I’m coming over,” Hank yelled.
Jimmy scrambled back to the top of the crater and aimed toward the muzzle flashes on the ridge. He fired and saw movement out of the corner of his eye as Hank lunged from the ground and ran, then dove into the bottom of the hole. The ground he’d just vacated erupted with geysers of dirt. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he muttered.
Jimmy dropped down, “You okay?” Hank lay on his back breathing like a racehorse and finally nodded.
Mack Penny asked, “Jantz, you still got the grenade launcher for your rifle?” When there was no response, Mack raised his voice, “Answer me, soldier.”
“Y - Yes sir. It’s in my pack.”
“Attach and load it. I need you to put a grenade on that bastard to the right.”
Jantz nodded, released his pack and pulled it around. He rifled through until he found the attachment for the M1. He clicked it into place and pulled a grenade from the satchel hanging from his back. After a minute he said, “Ready.”
Private First Class Penny addressed the men in the hole. “The flanks are pinned, we gotta go up the middle and push those fuckers off the ridge. Jantz,” he pointed directly at the quivering private’s face, “You need to keep their heads down with that launcher. How many shells you got?” Jantz’s face was white as a sheet and his eyes took on a blank stare. Mack yelled in his face, “Get your shit together, Private!”
His words broke through the fog and Jantz’s eyes refocused. He looked into his satchel. “I - I’ve got three shells plus this one.” He indicated the already loaded grenade.
Mack grabbed a handful of Jantz’ shirt and pulled him toward the upper lip of the crater. “Stay down.” When he got him in position he pointed toward the muzzle flash. “See him? Can you hit him?”
Jantz ducked down and nodded, “Think so, yes.”
The firing from the GIs increased as they found better cover, but the flanks were pinned down. Mack addressed Hank and Jimmy. “When Jantz shoots we’re going over the top. We’ll bound forward, got it?” Jimmy and Hank both nodded. “Alright. Jantz, you ready?” Private Jantz aimed his rifle grenade and nodded. “Fire when ready.” Jimmy and Hank were crouched, ready to spring. Jantz pulled the trigger and rifle grenade thunked and arced toward the muzzle flashes. “Now! Go,” yelled Mack.
Jimmy launched from the hole and ran. The flares gave off enough light for him to notice the machine gun stop firing and rotate in his direction. They’d been spotted. He expected to die any second, but then the ground in front of the machine gun erupted as the grenade fell a few feet short. It was enough to keep the gunner’s heads down and Jimmy was able to dive forward into another crater.
He fast crawled to the lip and brought his rifle up and fired where he knew the gunner to be. Seconds later he heard Hank then Mack slide into the hole. Jimmy reloaded and Mack yelled, “Get ready.” Jimmy nodded and looked at the next crater. It was a longer run, but he’d have a good angle on the machine gun nest if he could get there. “Wait for the shot.”
Seconds later Jimmy heard the pop of the rifle grenade and he and Hank sprang up and sprinted up the slope. This time Private Jantz’s grenade exploded to the right of machine gun nest. It stopped spewing fire as the gunners took cover. Jimmy could see the hole another thirty yards ahead. He heard Hank grunting and straining behind hi
m. From the corner of his eye he saw the gunner’s helmet come up and then the muzzle rotated towards him. It was going to be close. He heard firing from the hole he’d just left and saw geysers erupting in front of the machine gun. He pushed with everything he had and dove into the hole before the gunner could get a bead on him, but Hank was still a few yards back.
Jimmy crouched and put his rifle to his shoulder and fired until his clip pinged. Hank scrambled over the lip at the same time. “Cover for Mack, I’m reloading.”
Hank was out of breath but brought up his M1 and fired. The machine gun opened up, spewing death. Hank burned through his clip, but Jimmy was reloaded and was about to fire when he heard the grenade launcher fire again. He looked back at Hank who was wide eyed and breathing hard, then beyond him. “Where’s Mack?”
Hank spun around, looking back down the slope, but he couldn’t see anything. He called, “Mack, you okay?” There was no response.
The grenade exploded and Jimmy knew he had to make a move. “Cover me!” Without waiting, he sprang up and ran at an angle to the right, moving toward the machine gun nest. He could see the sandbagged structure. Jantz’s last grenade slammed into them, sending the gunners diving for cover. He felt Hank’s bullets whizzing past him. He could see them impacting the sandbags, sending dust and dirt flying. His legs felt like pistons as he charged. He dove into a depression in the slope before the gun crew recovered. He was out of breath, but he knew the gunners hadn’t seen his move.
He rolled onto his stomach and aimed up the slope. He could clearly see the machine gun’s muzzle and then he could see the machine gunner’s head. The Russian was sighting down his weapon at the hole he’d just left. He put his sights on the soldier’s head. He couldn’t miss at this range. He pulled the trigger and the soldier simply dropped out of sight. The machine gun muzzle pointed toward the sky.
Jimmy kept his sights steady on the spot waiting for the next man to take up the gun. He didn’t have to wait long. He fired and saw the soldier’s arms fly up and he flew backwards. Jimmy kept his sights steady in case there was another, but there was no movement. Suddenly he felt bullets whipping past him from the opposite direction. He lowered himself and saw the machine gunner to the left had an angle on him. Bullets stitched the dirt sending up spouts. He had to move.
He got to his feet and charged the machine gun nest only ten yards ahead. He had no idea what he’d find, but he couldn’t stay where he was. The gunner on the left flank didn’t follow his advance, and Jimmy thought he was probably afraid of firing on his own men. Jimmy came over the top of the sandbags with his rifle ready. He could see bodies. He leveled his M1 and fired into them. A third soldier looked up from the soldier he was giving aid to and his eyes widened. Jimmy pulled the trigger until his clip ran out and the soldier fell out the back of the nest with multiple point-blank shots to the chest and legs.
Jimmy crouched in the enemy nest and looked around with wild eyes at the devastation. He fumbled in his satchel and finally was able to load another clip. He swung his rifle back and forth but there were no more targets. The other machine gun nest was still hammering away down the hillside. Someone came flying over the sandbags from down the slope and slammed into him. Jimmy nearly crapped his pants, but he heard Hank through raspy breaths, “You okay?”
Before he could answer three more soldiers came flying over and landed in the bottom of the crowded hole. One of them was Sergeant Collins. He took in the scene and pointed at the second machine gun nest. “Take that son-of-a-bitch out.” The two soldiers with him, balanced their M1s on the sandbags and fired continuously. Jimmy and Hank joined in and soon the Russian machine gun nest was silenced. GIs suddenly filled the ridge and they fanned out through the abandoned Russian foxholes and trenches. There were a few shots, but nothing sustained.
Jimmy sat in the bottom of the hole trying to catch his breath. He looked to the sky and noticed the flares had died down allowing him to see stars. Sergeant Collins slapped his shoulder, “That was some good soldiering, Private Crandall.”
Jimmy suddenly remembered and lurched to his feet, “Where’s Mack? It was his idea. Where is he?”
Hank looked at the ground and Sergeant Collins shook his head. “He, he didn’t make it.”
Jimmy stared at him then sat back down and suddenly felt exhaustion overcome his body like high-tide consuming a beach. He dropped his head onto his crossed arms and closed his eyes. Hank put a hand on his shoulder, but knew there was nothing he could say to take the pain away. Collins stepped out of the hole, “Take a minute, get some water, but this isn’t over. We’ll need every man to hold this ridge once the commies figure out we took it.”
Jimmy stood and looked out over the ridge. The battle still raged in the valley. There were countless tanks burning and smoking. He could see the trench they’d come from and the road they’d crossed. Friendly artillery was slamming into the Russian T-34s extracting a terrible toll. He saw Lieutenant Little crouched nearby with the radio to his ear. “We’ve taken the ridge. Requesting reinforcements. A couple of Shermans and anti-tank guns could do a lot of damage up here. Also send more ammunition, Over.”
Jimmy could see the first glimmer of what was going to be a long day on the eastern horizon.
Thirteen
MaryAnn and the 4th Squadron were climbing as quickly as their 1490 horsepower Packard-built Merlin engines would allow. They’d scrambled from the airbase after radar picked up a large force of enemy fighters coming in from the sea. She had no doubt it was a counterattack from the Russian carrier group steaming toward Alaska.
Captain Elizabeth Perkins’ voice came over her headset. “HQ reports two groups, one at ten thousand the other at fifteen thousand. We’re taking the higher group, the men from the 6th Squadron are taking the lower. HQ confirms these are fighters, not bombers. This will be a fighter scrap. Stay with your wingman and don’t fill the radio with unnecessary chatter. Lets show these Russkie bastards how to fight. Over.”
MaryAnn glanced at her altimeter. She was passing through thirteen thousand feet. She breathed the canned air from her oxygen tank behind her metal seat. Despite Captain Perkins’ bravado, MaryAnn was nervous. She could feel beads of sweat dripping down the sides of her helmet despite the cold air outside. She glanced behind her, seeing her new wingman, 2nd Lieutenant Powalski, or Ski for short, which was also her callsign. She thought about Lt. Blaine. She’d failed to be a good wingman for her and now she was dead.
When she’d been moved up to lead, she’d been surprised. She knew it wasn’t for anything she’d done, but because she’d simply survived. That first battle over the Pacific seemed like ages ago now, but she realized only a day had passed. Her crew chief, Sergeant May Callahan had barely had enough time to fix the hole in her tail.
After another minute she leveled out with the rest of the squadron and heard Captain Perkins again. “Keep your eyes peeled.” MaryAnn looked at her altimeter, fifteen thousand five hundred.
She quickly scanned in twenty-degree segments of sky, searching for the telltale flash of cockpit glass or the distant dot. She shook her head, this is the worst part, trying to find them. She scanned above her, hoping they weren’t coming out of the bright sun. The sky was mostly clear with occasional clusters of clouds. She could see the blue ocean far below and the tiny white lines of foam and waves, but no sign of enemy fighters.
The radio crackled to life with the high-pitched excited voice of Lt. Withers, “Bandits 11 o’clock.”
MaryAnn turned and strained to see and immediately picked up dark dots against the blue sky. The longer she stared the more dots appeared until it seemed the sky was filled. She felt a warmth growing in the pit of her stomach and her mouth was suddenly dry as paper. Captain Perkins’ calm voice crackled, “Okay ladies, lets show ‘em what we’re made of.”
MaryAnn pushed the throttle and felt the P-51’s power pushing her back in her seat. She couldn’t keep from smiling, despite the coming battle. She muttered to hers
elf, “Don’t fail me now, tigress.” She followed the lazy turn to port until she and the rest of the squadron were streaking directly at the distant dots. Without an order, all twenty-four ships extended into a combat spread.
MaryAnn lined up on an enemy dot and glanced down at her instrument panel. She was hurtling through space at 450 mph. She figured her adversary was doing the same, for a closing speed of nearly 1000 mph. This is going to happen fast.
She watched the tiny dots get bigger. She thought she could see the dull green she remembered from the day before. She put her finger on the trigger, every ounce of concentration focused on the approaching enemy. She depressed the trigger at the same instant she saw the flashing of the enemy guns. She released after a one second burst and flipped her mustang sideways. The enemy plane flashed by her canopy. She snapped level and pulled back hard on the stick, feeling her body weight triple. She grunted and tightened her stomach, trying to force blood back to her head. Her vision dimmed and tunneled, but she remained conscious and once she was turned 180 degrees back the way she’d come, she whipped back upright. The release of pressure brought her world flooding back and she panted with the exertion. She did a quick glance at her instruments, nothing wrong, then searched the sky.
The Russian fighters were just completing their own turns, but instead of pulling up, they’d turned sideways. She was above them. She picked out the closest and pushed her throttle forward and her nose down. The Merlin engine responded instantly and she felt the power of the graceful war machine. Her finger touched the trigger. She was gaining and she could see the alien insignia on the fuselage, just behind the cockpit glass.
The Russian completed his turn just in time to see tigress diving. The pilot instinctively snapped the fighter away from the danger. MaryAnn grinned beneath her oxygen mask, bad move, Russkie. It set up a perfect deflection shot. She put her glowing K-14 pipper on the hapless fighter’s nose and depressed the trigger. She felt, rather than heard her guns erupt, sending out lethal .50 caliber bullets. She saw the impacts tearing chunks off the plane. The left wing suddenly folded in half and the doomed Russian plummeted out of her view, spiraling toward the sea far below.