Casualties of War: The Advocate Trilgy

by Bill Mesce

  The switchboard buzzed. Peck heard Timmy Rice plug in, then turn to Major Joyce: “Colonel Porter from the forward OP, Sir.”

  After a couple of “Yes, Sir”‘s, Joyce returned the handset to Rice. “They’re assembling at the demarcation line,” he informed Lieutenant Schup. “Is Tully out there?”

  “Just outside,” Lieutenant Schup said and called in Lieutenant Tully who commanded the Intelligence and Reconnaissance platoon. Tully was a small but rooster–solid–looking fellow about Schup’s age. Raymond felt wet drops on his back; spill from Tully’s poncho.

  “Almost curtain time, Walt,” Joyce said. “They’re assembling for jump–off. You’ve got about fifteen minutes to fill in behind them. As soon as you get up there, you get on that OP phone and let me know you’re there. You remember what you’re looking for?”

  “Red flare means they’ve opened the door; green flare is the ‘go’.”

  “Stay by the phone. We don’t know what kind of fireworks there’ll be up there; you may not be able to see the flares. If I hear the word on the radio, I’ll pass it to you.” It was not until a long second had passed and Joyce said, “Something else, Walt?” that Raymond realized the I & R lieutenant was still in the hut.

  “I assume with this weather, the air support’s an abort.”

  “They’re on stand–by if the rain – ”

  “There’s also supposed to be a platoon of tank destroyers giving direct fire support if we need it.” Tully had the flat, nasal tone of the American Midwest. Without raising his voice, he could make that twang sound hard and angry, like a sharply plucked guitar string. “There’s supposed to be an ammo train to re–supply the mortars. I don’t see them either.”

  “Division reported they left on time. They’re probably on the trail somewhere.”

  “I know they’re on the trail somewhere. Call division to see if they know when the hell they’re getting here.”

  Raymond could hear Joyce take an impatient breath. “If they knew anything more, we’d’ve heard – ”

  “If things go bad and I have to pull back across that firebreak without support, I’m maybe gonna get a handful of my people out. So I don’t mind making myself a pest on this.”

  “The idea is they won’t have to pull back.”

  “I know that’s the idea.”

  Another impatient breath, then Joyce had Rice buzz the divisional headquarters in Rott. A short conversation, then, to Tully: “They left on time. They should’ve been here an hour ago. They don’t know where they are. You know what the trail’s like. They might be having – ”

  “They might be up to their asses in mud, I know,” Tully said shortly. “One of them might’ve hit a mine or thrown a track and they’re backed up. I don’t care. I only know they’re not here. I’m sending two of my men backtracking the trail to see if they can locate them.” He was not requesting permission.

  Raymond took a sidelong glance in Joyce’s direction. The brim of the exec’s helmet shadowed his eyes against the overhead Coleman, but Raymond could see the set of the exec’s chin, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “They might still be all the way on the other side of the gorge.”

  “And they might be stuck just a couple hundred yards down the trail,” Tully countered.

  “What if they are? Are your people going to carry those Weasels up here on their backs?”

  “If they are close,” Schup said appeasingly, “Merriam can send his mortarmen and what’s left of the mess gang down to hand–carry what they can. It’d be something.”

  Joyce took a long, considering pause. “All right,” he said, but with a sharpness denying this was a compromise. “But they go only as far as they have to to see the road to Kommerscheidt. If there’s no sign of the ammo train then, they hightail it back here. In the meantime, you move your platoon into position.”

  It must’ve been agreeable as nothing more was said and Raymond heard Tully leave. Pointed looks must have transpired between Joyce and Lieutenant Schup because the lieutenant next said, “I know, I should’ve taken you into the other room to talk about it first. But we don’t have another room. It’s only two men, Major.”

  “Last night when the major was giving rifles to cooks, every head seemed like a lot. It seems a waste to send two of them off on a stroll. What’s the time? I can’t get myself to look at my watch.”

  “Oh–four–fifty. Ten minutes to go.” A pause. “You know Walt’s right.”

  “I know.”

  Raymond took another quick look behind. Lieutenant Schup was behind him, leaning against the wall, ankles crossed, as he picked at his own tin of powdered eggs, the food steaming in the chill air of the hut. The exec paced a miniscule circle – all the confines of the hut would allow – and rubbed his gloved hands together. Joyce stopped, glanced at his watch.

  “Buzz Captain Merriam,” Joyce said to Rice. Then, into the handset, “I know it’s not in the operational script, but if you had to, how long could you sustain any kind of appreciable barrage?…I know, Tully had me buzz division about it. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.” To Schup: “He could keep something up for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. No more.”

  “That’s not much.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  The switchboard buzzed. “It’s Colonel Porter, Sir. He reports King, Love, and Item Companies are starting into the firebreak. He’s turning the OP over to Lieutenant Tully.”

  “Now the worrying part starts,” Lieutenant Schup said.

  “Now? I wished you’d said something before. I started early!” Joyce and the lieutenant shared a small laugh though Raymond didn’t think it was particularly funny.

  Lieutenant Schup knelt by Raymond. “They’re moving out now, son, so you keep an ear open.”

  Raymond nodded. “But you know, Sir, with all these trees…I won’t be able to get much ‘til they’re a good ways up that hill.”

  Lieutenant Schup nodded; he knew. “Just anything you hear…pass on.”

  “How long should it take them?” Joyce asked.

  “To cross the firebreak? Not long. Couple of minutes.” Lieutenant Schup set his empty plate atop the wireless and lit himself and Joyce a cigarette.

  “This is the part I hate,” Joyce said.

  “I can’t think of any part of it I like!” Lieutenant Schup chuckled.

  The switchboard buzzed. “Lieutenant Tully, Sir. He says he got a radio message from Colonel Porter says they reached the first phase line without a problem.”

  Raymond Peck heard someone tap the drawing of Hill 399. They would’ve been touching the outside border of the chevron: the bottom of the hill.

  “You didn’t get any of that?” Lieutenant Schup asked Raymond.

  “I told you ‘bout those trees, Lieutenant.”

  The battalion CP sat in what had once been a picnic clearing less than 750 yards north–northwest of Hill 399, separated by a 150 yard firebreak and then close–knit ranks of tall firs. The crystalline cold air of predawn carried every noise with the unmuted clarity of a cleanly struck chime. So, when the torrent of automatic weapons fire erupted on the hill at 0513 that morning, it sounded as if a massacre were going on just the other side of the trees round the picnic area.

  It began with a few short, isolated bursts, tentative–sounding, but then, like the loosening of a stopcock, there was a quick, terrific swell: rapid–firing German MG 42s, so many they sounded like one, incessant roar.

  “Goddammit!” Joyce exploded. “It’s too soon! What the fuck – ”

  The switchboard buzzed. Before Rice could acknowledge the call, Joyce scooped up the handset. “Tully! What the fuck is going on up there?…I know that! I’m not deaf! Can you see anything?…” Whatever Tully said elicited a pained moan from the exec. “Unless I hear otherwise, it’s still on for now.”

  Raymond flicked his eyes to the side and saw Joyce staring at the handset in his gloved hand as if it were something repugnant. He dropped it in Rice’s lap, shaking his head.
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  “Well?” Lieutenant Schup pushed.

  “The last two days have really torn it up over there. Tully says he could hear them crashing through the fallen branches all the way across the firebreak.”

  “If he heard them…” Lieutenant Schup felt no need to complete the thought.

  “He says the krauts have the hill lit up like the Fourth of July: tracers, flares...”

  “Any word from the colonel?”

  Joyce shook his head, leaned against one of the stone walls and slid to a seated position. Out of the corner of his eye, Peck saw the major’s boots, then his helmet as the captain tossed it on the ground, then the little woolen “beanie” he wore underneath. “I’m sweating,” the exec said tiredly. “My ass is freezing, but I’m sweating.”

  The haphazard pattern of the German artillery began to change. Less began to fall on the CP area. The tempo picked up as the German guns began to fire faster, the shells dropping in concentrated salvos into the forest south of them…where the I & R Platoon was now dug in: the Germans were trying to isolate the Americans on the hill from reinforcements. A new noise joined in: the whump of mortars behind the hill, dropping their shells on the Americans thrashing their way up the littered reverse slope.

  “Anything, son?” For the first time, Lieutenant Schup sounded anxious.

  Raymond shook his head.

  Lieutenant Schup turned to Joyce: “If he gets through, you should tell Porter to pull out while it’s still dark enough to cover him.”

  “It’s his call,” Joyce said. “He’s the boss. He knows the score.”

  “Maybe you should talk it over with division.”

  Joyce said nothing, his arms forming a cradle between his knees upon which he rested his head. For the longest time, Raymond Peck was not even sure the exec was awake.

  And that was how they spent the next hour, then the hour after that: listening to the deluge of machine gun fire, artillery and mortars, the flinch–inducing crack of shattering trees a few hundred yards away: an abrasive, ugly orchestral completely overwhelming the rooftop patter of rain.

  The silence was broken by Lieutenant Schup as he extinguished the flame on the Coleman, pulled aside the blackout curtain and swung the door open. The picnic area was an open space of grass and criss–crossing gravel paths dotted with wooden tables. Now, the grass was withered, sometimes torn by a muddy shell crater, and the paths had been pounded into mire by soldier’s boots. Despite the overcast sky and steady rain, it was all clearly visible through the door in the dismal gray light of morning.

  Glumly, Lieutenant Schup again asked Raymond Peck if there was any news, then had Timmy Rice buzz the forward OP for a situation report from Tully.

  “He says he can see them still trying to get through the trees,” Rice relayed. “He says does Major Joyce know the sun’s coming up?”

  Joyce stirred, pulling on his headgear and drew himself tiredly to his feet. “Yes,” he said emptily, “tell the lieutenant that Major Joyce is painfully aware that the sun’s coming up.”

  An incoming call on the switchboard: “It’s division, Major. They want a sitrep.”

  Joyce was standing by Lieutenant Schup in the doorway, watching the gray sky grow lighter each minute, watching the rain swirl down the torn crests of the shell holes to pool in their bottoms.

  “What’re you going to tell them?” Lieutenant Schup asked.

  “I’m going to tell them that our people on the hill are now fucked.”

  *

  Almost another two hours of listening to the dreadful din from Hill 399 would pass before Rice excitedly turned to the two officers to report: “Lieutenant Tully thinks he sees our guys in the trenches. He’s not sure, but – ”

  “Sirs!” Raymond Peck pushed the kapok cushions of his headset closer to his ears and strained to disentangle the in–and–out voice threading through the thick static. “I think I’ve got ‘em!” Hearing the CO’s wireless call sign of Rainbow Six, Raymond exclaimed: “I think it’s the colonel!” Raymond continued to plead with the speaker to, “Say again.” What he received in response was, “Rainbow, Rainbow, this is Rainbow Six…–bow, Rainbow, this is…Six…Phase Line Two…repeat we are at Phase…Red and Blue are at Phase Line Two…no status on…repeat, no…on White…not to wait, move Green into position…”

  Joyce and Lieutenant Schup, jotting new notations on the Hill 399 diagram, interpreted this as meaning that King (Green) and Love (Blue) Companies had reached the German trench line on the left–hand slope of the chevron, and that Tully (Green) should move his men into position to move on the hill. There was no word from Item Company (White) on the right–hand slope but the curve of the hill inhibited wireless communication between the assault troops on that side of the hill and the battalion CP as well as the two companies on the other slope.

  “Maybe we can pull this out yet,” Joyce said, although when Raymond turned to see if Lieutenant Schup shared the exec’s optimism, he found the lieutenant staring icily at the diagram of Hill 399. “Notify division that the assault companies have reached the second phase line,” the major told Rice. “We expect the final push shortly. Then buzz the forward OP and tell Lieutenant Tully to assemble his men for jump–off.”

  “The OP line is out, Sir.”

  “The shelling,” Schup guessed. “I’ll send a repair squad out to track the line and – ”

  “I can’t wait for that,” Joyce said. “I’m going up there.”

  “You should stay here, Major,” Lieutenant Schup said. “Walt knows what to do.”

  “I’m not sure his idea of what to do and mine are the same thing. Right now I’m deaf and blind here! Have them run a fresh line to the OP – that’ll be faster than trying to fish for a break. I’ll update you as soon as I have commo from the OP,” and then the exec was out the door and into the rain.

  Raymond heard Lieutenant Schup’s boots pace up and down the short length of the hut. When he turned, he saw the lieutenant unhappily massaging his forehead. The lieutenant noticed Raymond looking at him, somehow found a comforting smile for the lad. “Let’s hear what you have there, son.”

  They shared the headset, each with an ear pressed to one of the kapok “mittens.” As much as Joyce’s sudden exuberance had made taking the trench line sound like a breakthrough, the bits and pieces of wireless traffic Raymond sifted out of the ether, with their hoarse, desperate voices trying to be heard over the background of gunfire and explosions, were hardly promising:

  “Blue, Blue, this is Green Six…Blue, where’s your six? Over.”

  “This is Sisto, Green. Where’s Sekelsky? Is he on his way up? Over.”

  “…dead for all I know! It’s not gonna matter in about five minutes ‘cause that’s all I can buy…flank ready to fold…can you…repeat, what can you give me? I’m trying to hold the left with two machine gun squads! The ammo’s going! Over.”

  “I’ll send you what I can but I have to keep something to cover the push to the top. Over.”

  “Blue, this is White Six…we’re in the trenches…tie in, repeat, can you tie in to my left? We’re spread so thin I can’t…”

  “White Six this is Blue Six, no can do…all open ground…you get a thirty in there to cover…”

  “Say again, Blue…”

  “…Six, you’re breaking…”

  “…Rainbow Six. Buckle down everybody. We’re almost home. Does anybody have a sitrep on Sergeant Sekelsky? We’re ready to go! Over.”

  “Who the fuck is that on the phone? We’re ready to get our ass kicked off this goddamned…pull us the fuck…where’s the fuckin’ air strike…”

  Had Raymond Peck not been sharing the headset he would not have heard what at that particular moment he considered among the most welcome noises to fall upon his ears. Lieutenant Schup heard it as well. They each flashed the same, broad smile, then the lieutenant ran out of the hut to meet two tracked “Weasels” clanking up one of the narrow gravel trails into the picnic area.

 
“Tell Captain Merriam to send down every man he can get his hands on!” Lieutenant Schup told Timmy Rice. “His ammo’s here!”

  “…can’t even find all my fuckin’ wounded…gotta be fuckin’ crazy…”

  “This is Rainbow Six! Who are you? Identify yourself! Calm down and report! Who’s in charge there? Who’s in command?”

  “…who…don’t know where…They’re all fuckin’ dead!”

  Through the doorway, Raymond Peck saw a mud–splattered lieutenant jump off the lead Weasel. “Who’s in charge?”

  “The CO and the exec are on the line,” Lieutenant Schup said. “You can talk to me.” Schup looked down the trail behind the Weasels. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  “You’re lucky you got this!” the lieutenant said. “We were in column with the TDs. One of ‘em hit a mine coming out of the gorge. You know what the trail’s like there; there was no way we could get around ‘im. One of my guys remembered a fire trail he thought we could bull through. We had to back all the way down the gorge to pick it up. Two of us got onto the trail, then one of the Weasels bellied on a tree stump and threw a track; blocked the rest of ‘em up. No telling when they’ll get here.”

  “What’ve you got for us?”

  “I’m afraid you’re 81 mm and small arms ammo is stuck back on the trail. But I got these two loads for your 60 mm tubes.”

  “Good enough!” Lieutenant Schup beamed.

  Soon several dozen men were clustered round the Weasels, off–loading the heavy ammunition tins, each containing four mortar rounds, and toting it up to where the Heavy Weapons Company was dug in in another clearing just off the CP area.