Strike Force Red

by C T Glatte

  Another explosion further down the line. He heard GIs calling out in the night. Soon the message reached his area and the trooper nearest him punched his shoulder, “They’re coming.”

  Jimmy slapped Hank’s helmet and he moaned, but didn’t respond. “Wake up. They’re coming. Pass it along.”

  Hank came out of his stupor and pulled his helmet up. Jimmy could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness. Hank processed, then pulled himself to his feet and passed the message along to the next guy. All along the line, men were preparing.

  The intensity of the shelling increased. It moved back and forth across the line. So far, it was concentrated to the northern section, but that soon changed. Jimmy and Hank hugged the wall, making themselves as small as they could. The shells sounded like freight trains screeching in, then exploding, sending fiery shrapnel in all directions. The walls of the trench shook and great clumps of mud and dirt fell onto the cowering GIs.

  Jimmy was knocked flat by a near miss. the roar, quickly shut his ears down and all he could discern was a steady ringing. He curled into a ball, hugging his rifle and his eyes sealed shut. He felt weight on his back and he couldn’t decide if it was dirt, or a GI. The thought of being buried alive suddenly took hold and he was about to lurch to his feet when another near miss knocked the breath from his lungs. He struggled to breathe, panic surged through his mind. Every fiber wanted to bolt, to flee the hell raining down, but he couldn’t seem to make his muscles work. This is it. This is how I die. The thought brought him momentary peace and suddenly he was able to pull air into his struggling lungs.

  The shelling continued, but it passed over his section for the moment. He stayed put, realizing as long as he could breathe he was okay. The weight on his back was heavy, but not crushing. He thought he’d be able to dig his way out once the shelling stopped. For now it offered some protection.

  Finally the ground stopped shaking. The shelling stopped. Jimmy opened his eyes. It was pitch black. For an instant he thought he’d just stay beneath whatever was on top of him and the war would forget all about him and pass by. But through his ringing ears he could discern something else, someone calling out, someone in trouble. He tried to push himself up and he immediately realized he’d underestimated the weight. He couldn’t push himself off the ground. Fear gripped his gut and he could feel the familiar panic rising. He wiggled and thrashed, trying to free himself, but it was useless, he was trapped. He heard someone screaming and realized it was his own voice. His throat was raw. He’d been screaming for awhile. How can that be?

  He heard a new voice yelling, like it was coming from a great distance. His mind latched onto the sound. Soon he noticed the weight on his back was changing, shifting, becoming lighter, less intense. They’re digging me out.

  Suddenly, the weight seemed to peel off him. He heard someone’s desperate voice. “Oh my God, he’s dead.”

  Jimmy’s mind reeled. I’m dead? Is this death? Suffocation? But his mind shook it away. Then he felt hands gripping his shoulders and he heard the voice say, “There’s another one underneath. It’s Crandall.” He felt himself lifted and propped against a wall. He couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus. He saw a fuzzy red light, like a stop-light in a rainstorm. It filled his vision and he winced. “Hey, buddy you’re okay. It’s over, you’re okay.”

  He watched the light move away, then another voice, one he recognized, “Holy shit, I thought I lost you.”

  The relief of hearing Hank’s voice cut through his grogginess and he turned to the voice. “Hank? Is that you? I can’t seem to focus. What - what happened?”

  Hank pushed his face close and Jimmy could see his friend’s wide eyes beneath his helmet. “The shells. The wall collapsed on you and Ricks. We had to dig you out.” He paused and looked to the right, “Ricks didn’t make it. I thought it was you. I thought you’d died, but you were underneath him.”

  Jimmy started to shake. “Ricks died? He died on me?” Hank nodded, “Oh my God.”

  Hank gripped Jimmy’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You’re alive, that’s the only thing that matters.”

  There was yelling up and down the line. Jimmy turned toward the sound, the ringing finally lessening. “Here they come!”

  Twelve

  Jimmy, Hank and the rest of 3rd Squad were bunched against the trench wall. The night was lit up with constant flashes from artillery and sputtering flares fired by both sides. After the heavy artillery bombardment they were shaken but intact. Jimmy held his sniper rifle to his chest and waited for the order to take their positions.

  A black shape came around the corner and stumbled on Private Ricks’ body. The GI cursed but continued toward them. He crouched and Jimmy recognized his team leader, Corporal Kentworthy. His voice was raspy, like he’d smoked too many cigarettes. “Okay third squad I got orders from Sergeant Collins. We’re the left flank of the entire division. The Shermans to our left are expecting to advance toward the ridge once the Russian armor gets here. When they pull forward, we’ll be the end of the line.” He looked from one man to another. “Outposts are reporting the Russians are coming with everything they’ve got.” He pointed over his head at the screeching of outgoing artillery. “As you can hear, they’re catching hell right now, but the artillery won’t be enough to stop them. Keep your ammo close, and be sure of your shots. Any questions?” When there were none he nodded. “Okay get to your firing positions and wait for my command to open fire.” He pointed at Private Waddell and his BAR. “Set up on the flank, but move every so often, they’ll target the bigger guns if they see you.” Private Waddell nodded in the darkness. “Let’s get it done guys, we stop ‘em here.”

  Jimmy took a deep breath and blew it out slowly then got to his feet and stepped onto the wooden step dug into the side of the trench. He slowly extended until his eyes poked above the lip of the trench. He was still in a semi-crouch and his back protested the awkward position. When he didn’t get shot, he relaxed a little and pushed to his full height, then leaned forward into the divot, he’d dug out. He extended his rifle and put his scope to his eye. There wasn’t much to see in the darkness. He was hoping the light from the flares would be enough, but he realized he’d be better off with his M1. He exchanged rifles, being sure to keep the sniper rifle handy in case the battlefield lit up enough.

  He peered over the open sights of the M1 and scanned the ridge. Since the bombardment, there’d been no firing from the Russians and he wondered if they’d abandoned the ridge. The road in front was empty, except for a few burned out trucks. He looked right and could see the trench-line snaking away. It bristled with silhouettes of GI helmets and gun barrels. The flashes and dull thunder coming from up the road, told him the whereabouts of the advancing Russian armor. He hoped each crashing shell killed Russians and there’d be none left by the time they came out of the canyon. He knew it was a pipe dream.

  Long minutes passed and the shelling got closer until he could see the actual explosions. He saw a silhouette of a tank for an instant in the flash of an exploding shell. He took in a sharp breath, this is really happening. Other GIs along the line saw the same thing and he heard someone yell unnecessarily, “Here they come.”

  To his right he heard Hank mutter, “No shit, Sherlock,” and he couldn’t help chuckling.

  Hank was a few feet away and Jimmy was glad for it. “You ready for this, buddy?”

  Hank looked at him and Jimmy could see his wide eyes beneath his steel pot. “As I’ll ever be I guess.”

  The friendly artillery switched from hurling deadly high explosives to bright flares. The night lit up as countless flares ignited and floated down beneath mini-parachutes. The road was full of tanks. The sight made Jimmy want to turn and run, but he stayed put. Corporal Kentworthy yelled from his left, “Commies in the open from the ridge!”

  Jimmy looked towards the ridge and his eyes nearly bugged out. The ground was filled with soldiers crawling forward. They lay still, caught in the night suddenly t
urned to day. Jimmy shifted his M1 and lined up his muzzle on an enemy face only forty yards away. He squeezed the trigger at the same time he heard Corporal Kentworthy give the order to open fire.

  The M1 bucked in his hand and he saw the soldier’s head snap back then simply flop forward. He shifted to the right and fired twice into the man beside the first. He was pushing himself up and Jimmy’s shots thumped into his chest and he dropped. There was another soldier directly behind him and Jimmy raised the muzzle slightly and fired. He kept coming, despite Jimmy’s shots, so he put two more into him and he went down.

  The firing along the trench line was intense. Private Waddell was making good use of his BAR, putting out a steady stream of lead. The thirty caliber Browning somewhere to Jimmy’s right was spewing out death in short controlled bursts.

  there were targets everywhere and Jimmy moved from one to the next until his clip ‘pinged.’ He immediately reloaded, but in the excitement his palm slipped and the bolt clipped his thumb as he pushed the eight-bullet clip in. He grimaced, but ignored the pain and found another target.

  The Russian’s were caught out in the open and they seemed to realize all at once that their only chance was to rush the line and get in amongst the GIs. A yell went up and they charged. Jimmy moved his weapon methodically from one man to the next until he again needed to reload. The BAR stopped firing and Jimmy heard Pvt. Waddell yelling, “Reloading.”

  The Russians surged forward and Jimmy was sure they’d make it to the trench. He didn’t remember reloading but he was firing again and he could see his barrel glowing red. His mind reeled, when do I stop firing and get on my feet? He realized he didn’t have his bayonet attached, none of them did. He sighted on the chest of a soldier only yards from him and watched the soldier’s mouth twist in agony as he fell. Another Russian was right behind him and he leaped over his fallen comrade. His teeth were bared like a lion’s. The shadows from the unnatural light made him look crazed, like something from a nightmare.

  Without realizing he’d done it, Jimmy was on his feet. He leveled the M1 without bothering to put it to his shoulder and fired from the hip. The unsupported weapon kicked out of his hand and dropped to the ground. The Russian continued charging and Jimmy noticed the glinting steel of a long bayonet on the end of his rifle. Jimmy’s eyes turned to saucers. He wouldn’t be able to move in time. He waited to feel the steel enter his body, but the Russian suddenly stumbled and dropped, plowing into Jimmy’s legs. The soldier’s momentum took Jimmy’s legs out and he toppled over and fell into the bottom of the trench, landing on the soldier.

  The light didn’t penetrate to the bottom of the trench and it felt to Jimmy as if he’d fallen off the edge of the world. He scrambled to his feet, waiting for the Russian steel to kill him, but the soldier didn’t move.

  He felt around the darkness for a weapon and finally felt the heavy stock of a rifle. He lifted it from beneath the inert form of the Russian and saw the glinting steel of the bayonet. He aimed the unfamiliar rifle at the Russian and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He loathed the idea of sticking the soldier but he didn’t want to leave him alive. The noise of battle seemed to grow with the added screams and yells of desperate men.

  He looked up in time to see Hank in silhouette against the sky firing his M1 then crouching and the form of another Russian soldier plowing into him. Hank’s crouch sent the soldier flying over him and he tumbled into the trench and landed hard. There was no doubt this one was still alive. Jimmy couldn’t see the man’s face, but he saw him struggling to his feet. Jimmy lunged and felt the long blade sink into the soldier. The Russian’s scream penetrated deep into Jimmy’s soul. It grated on him like fingernails on a chalk board. He pulled the bayonet out and lunged forward again. This time the screaming stopped.

  He pulled on the rifle but it wouldn’t budge, like it were an ax stuck in a knot of wood. He gave up after the second pull and searched for another rifle. He swept the trench wall and found his sniper rifle where he’d left it. The familiarity of it made him feel better. He scrambled up the trench wall. He couldn’t see Hank anymore and was about to call his name but there was a Russian soldier charging him. The soldier fired his rifle from the hip and Jimmy felt the heat of the bullet pass his ear. Jimmy dropped to one knee as he brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The Russian stumbled and fell at Jimmy’s feet.

  Another soldier was right behind him and Jimmy knew he didn’t have time to chamber another round. He reversed his grip, holding the rifle by the barrel and swung it like a baseball bat. The charging soldier took the full brunt of the swing to the side of his face. The sickening sound of a cracking skull told Jimmy it was a mortal blow.

  Jimmy knew they were about to be overrun. There seemed to be no end to the Russian soldiers. He brought the rifle around and tried to work the bolt before the next soldier was upon him, but knew he’d be too late. He dropped the rifle and prepared to tackle the oncoming soldier, but slipped and fell onto his face. He searched with wild eyes for the Russian he knew was coming to stick him, but he wasn’t there. Machine gun fire filled the night. Tracer rounds lanced through the advancing soldiers like a scythe.

  Jimmy looked to the source and saw the hulking forms of multiple Shermans clanking along the road from the left. The Browning thirty caliber muzzles sticking from the front of each one spat flame and lead into the charging Russians, stopping their headlong advance. Relief flooded Jimmy and he tried to cheer out loud, but he realized he didn’t have any breath. He struggled to breathe, finally pulling in great gasps of air and getting control.

  He scrambled to his knees found his Springfield and tried to work the bolt but it was stuck, jammed. The immediate threat was gone, but there were still multiple soldiers.

  In the surreal light of the flares he searched the ground and found one of the Russian rifles. It was partially beneath the soldier whose skull he’d crushed. As he pulled the rifle, the trigger guard caught on the soldier’s chin strap and moved his head upward. Jimmy saw the man’s one dead eye staring up at him. The other was crushed and hanging half out of its socket. Jimmy nearly released the rifle as revulsion filled his gut, but the loud firing of a Sherman’s main 75mm gun renewed his efforts and the rifle came free.

  He quickly looked over the rifle, finding the safety and the magazine sticking from the bottom. He decided it looked a lot like the M1 Carbine, the sister of the M1 Garand. He scanned the area, looking for any immediate threats but the Russian attack from the ridge had been stopped. He suddenly remembered, “Hank! Hank!”

  More flares ignited overhead and he searched the area where Hank had been. He didn’t find him and fear gripped him. There were bodies everywhere, mostly wearing Russian uniforms. Someone yelled and he realized it was Corporal Kentworthy. “Back to the trench. Find cover!”

  Jimmy spun around and saw faces poking from the lip of the trench. He realized he was exposed, but he had to find Hank. A sudden explosion made him wince. The closest Sherman’s turret lifted from the main body like a child's toy. It spun slowly then came down gun first and buried deep in the dirt. Flames erupted from the hulking metal.

  Jimmy felt hands on his shoulder and he nearly swung the rifle before he heard Hank yelling in his ear. “Come on! Now!”

  “Hank! I couldn’t find you.” Hank ignored him and pulled until they both flopped into the relative safety of the trench.

  Jimmy caught his breath and clutched Hank’s arm. “Thought I’d lost you.”

  Hank shook his head. “What the hell were you doing out there for chrissakes?” He didn’t wait for an answer but thrust an M1 forward. “Get rid of that commie shit.”

  Jimmy dropped the Russian rifle and clutched the familiar M1. He closed his eyes and felt tears streaking down his cheeks. He quickly brushed them aside. Hank pretended not to notice. He clutched his friend’s shoulder. “I thought I lost you, you damned fool.”

  Minutes later Jimmy had regained his composure. The sound of battle was all around.
He stood and joined the other GIs on the lip of the trench. The Sherman’s were in close contact with the Russian T-34s. Equal numbers of burning hulls from both sides added to the light of the flares.

  Jimmy had his M1 on his shoulder and was taking shots at the infantry mixed with the Russian armor. The rest of the squad was doing the same. The threat to the left flank had been repulsed, but the Sherman’s were in a fight for their lives.

  Lieutenant Little and the rest of the platoon had joined their section. He was talking with Sergeant Collins and Corporal Kentworthy. When the conference was over Sergeant Collin’s booming voice filled the trench. “Listen up. Captain wants us to move across the road and take that ridge.” Jimmy pulled his eyes from his sights hoping he’d heard wrong. “We’ll have third platoon covering for us, but we need to get across this open ground as quickly as possible. Captain Pugliac thinks the Russian’s left the ridge undefended with that attack. He wants the high ground.”

  Jimmy exchanged a worried glance with Hank and the other members of the squad. The tanks were still gripped in close combat. Plumes of fire erupted as Shermans and T-34s seemed to suddenly blossom. The air was full of lead and death and they’d have to cross it.

  “Check ammo, get water, we go in two minutes.” It was Sergeant Collins barking. “Once we’re out, don’t stop until you reach the ridge. The tanks will be our screen.”

  Jimmy dropped back into the trench and searched the ground for his satchel full of ammunition. He found it beneath a body, it was the soldier he’d killed with the bayonet. He cringed at what he’d done, but pushed it from his mind. He felt inside the satchel. There were multiple loaded 8-round M1 clips. He slung it over his shoulder and felt for the canteen hooked to his belt. He pulled it off with shaking hands and unscrewed the lid. He put it to his lips but only a few drops came out. He was suddenly extremely thirsty. He didn’t remember draining it. He gave it a once over and saw a neat hole in the front and a jagged exit wound on the back. Shit. He dropped it and called out, “Anyone got any water?”