by C T Glatte
Captain Willis scowled, “Our boys are hitting the fleet hard. This damn destroyer’s got it in for us though. Thought he’d move to defend the carrier and let us go, but no such luck.”
“Depth charge in the water!” called out Sonarman Burnett.
MaryAnn cringed and held onto a gray handle. She’d nearly rubbed the paint off.
“Up bubble twenty-degrees.”
“Twenty degrees up bubble, aye.”
The slope of the sub angled upward and they had to adjust their stance to keep from falling backward. Burnett held the headphones to his head, ready to rip them off, hopefully before the explosion. “Charge is beside us now.” He listened intently, then moved the phones from his ears. “It passed.” The tension relaxed slightly, if the charge had blown right beside them, it would likely have sunk them.
Seconds passed, then an explosion. MaryAnn closed her eyes and held on as the sub bucked and rolled with the concussion. She’d lost count how many depth charges they’d endured. She wondered if perhaps the destroyer would run out.
The captain pulled the mike off the intercom and keyed it ship-wide. “This is the captain. We have to surface and take this destroyer on. The torpedo room’s half flooded and unusable. All we’ve got’s our deck gun.” He paused and the nearby men stared at him. The men in other sections stared at the intercom. “Lets give this son-of-a-bitch a bloody nose.” He hung up the ship-wide and barked orders. “Course to 347, bubble angle up to thirty-degrees.” The sub turned slightly and angled steeper upward. Captain Willis spoke to LCDR Stavos, “Hopefully we’ll surface facing him, give him a harder target. Get your best men on the guns, XO.”
Stavos, grit his teeth and gave him a stiff salute, “Aye, Captain.” He moved off barking for men to ready themselves for combat. At the ladder to the conning tower, sailors stood ready. The lead man held a .30 caliber Browning machine gun. The second man had his hands full with metal ammo cans. Three more sailors held Thompson submachine guns. It wasn’t much against a destroyer but perhaps they’d keep their heads down long enough for the deck crew to get a few shots from the three-inch gun. No one had any illusions who’d win the fight. There were simply too many guns facing them.
The sub surfaced, the men were already unlatching the hatches, spinning them and thrusting them open. Fresh air cascaded into the sub, mixing with the stale air. The men hustled onto the deck and within seconds they were topside, running to unlimber the deck guns.
Captain Willis went to the conning tower. He glanced at the wide eyed Lt. Larkin. “Come up behind me. If we go down, you can swim off.”
She looked at the men manning their stations. She gulped, nodded and got to her feet. Her legs felt like noodles and she had to grasp the familiar handle to keep from falling over. She went to the ladder and looked up. Early morning light streamed through and she realized the longest night she’d ever endured had finally ended. She gulped, wondering if she’d see another morning.
Captain Willis disappeared out the hatch and she heard the sound of combat. The .30 caliber was hammering and she saw tinkling spent cartridges flowing down the ladder like a copper stream. She put her head down and felt them bouncing off. One found it’s way under her shirt collar and it burned. She whimpered but kept climbing, finally emerging beside Captain Willis, who was ducked beneath the metal of the cupola with his pistol out. She heard a booming and thought it must be the three inch deck gun firing.
The sailor manning the .30 caliber browning suddenly pitched backward and crumpled beside MaryAnn. His eyes stared at her and she saw a stream of blood drip from a small hole in the center of his forehead. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Captain Willis cursed, dropped his pistol and clutched the machine gun handle and trigger. He fired and more brass casings cascaded onto the deck.
MaryAnn finally tore her eyes from the dead man and found herself holding the pistol Willis had dropped. Heavy hammer blows thumped into the mast metal and she saw indentations suddenly emerge right in front of her eyes. She got her legs beneath her and pulled herself up beside the captain. The scene was like nothing she’d ever seen from the cockpit of her plane. The destroyer seemed close enough to touch. She saw Russian sailors manning guns, training them on the submarine. The air was filled with buzzing snaps of passing bullets. She saw the deck gun crew struggling to keep behind the gun’s cover while at the same time loading and firing. There were already two sailor’s bloody bodies splayed to either side. This is it, she thought.
She lifted the .45 pistol at the mass of the destroyer and fired. It sounded pathetic and insubstantial to her, but she continued firing until the clip ran out. It felt good to fight back.
Suddenly there was a roar and she thought for an instant that God himself had intervened with an army of angels flinging fire. Tracer rounds from the sky lanced into the destroyer, sweeping the deck. She looked for the source and had to cover her eyes from the glare of the rising sun, but she saw the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. One after another P-51s with pink tails strafed the destroyer. Chunks of metal and wood were stripped away. She saw men dropping as the fire swept them from their guns. Despite the carnage all around her, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Give ‘em hell, girls.
She raised her hand and waved as they continued to sweep the destroyer. Finally, after two passes the pink-tailed Mustangs streaked away low and fast. She watched as they gracefully flew toward the horizon.
The booming of the deck gun refocused her attention. An explosion bloomed on the bridge of the destroyer and she saw glass and flames erupt. Captain Willis yelled to the remaining deck crew. “Fire at her waterline. Sink her.” He yelled at the sailor acting as his loader. “Get down there and help them.”
The sailor dropped the .30 caliber ammo, vaulted to the ladder and scampered down the mast and was beside the gun crew faster than MaryAnn thought possible. The next shot hit the fleeing destroyer in the stern and MaryAnn could see a gaping hole right at the waterline. Captain Willis exclaimed excitedly, “She’s turning away from us, they can’t fire on us.” The gun was reloaded and another shell slammed into her stern. He lifted his fist in triumph and encouraged his men, “Give ‘em another! Pour it on, boys!”
Another boom and the shell slammed into the hull and the destroyer slewed to port and drifted. “That’s it she’s dead in the water. We took out her screws or rudder, or both.” He got to his knees and yelled into the guts of the submarine. “With the help of those fighter jocks, the destroyer’s out of commission. Come about, we’re heading home.”
MaryAnn heard a cheer erupt from the depths and she couldn’t wipe the grin from her face. Captain Willis got back to his feet and peered through his binoculars. He pointed, “The carrier’s going down!”
He handed the binoculars to her and she scanned where he was pointing. There were smoke plumes everywhere, but she saw the doomed ship rolling onto it’s side. It was down in the stern, obviously flooding. She could see tiny dots she knew to be Russian sailors hurling themselves into the sea. My God, she thought. She quickly handed the binoculars back to Willis.
There was a growing roar and she looked to the horizon. Tiny dots were growing larger. She touched the captain’s arm and pointed. He stopped watching the carrier and focused on the dots. He dropped the binoculars and grinned. “The flyboys are going to do a flyby. I owe everyone of those cocky sons-of-bitches a beer.”
MaryAnn shook her head. “They’re not flyboys, Captain.” He looked at her quizzically and she pointed, “Look at the tail. See the pink? That’s the fighting 4th. That’s my squadron!” She waved like a crazy person jumping up and down as she saw the grinning faces of victory flash by. The final plane in the line did a perfectly executed barrel roll as it passed, and the pilot grinned and saluted.
“Well I’ll be damned,” said Captain Willis.
Twenty-Two
Jimmy and Hank stayed in the middle of the mishmash group of soldiers. They’d maneuvered to a cliff overlooking the the huge field
where their artillery had first been set up, but was now filled with Russian tanks and infantry.
Their group of stray soldiers had grown by twenty men bringing the total to forty. A major from the 54th Division had taken command from Sergeant Campbell and he’d divided the men into teams of ten. Despite the command change the mission stayed the same, make contact and rejoin with the main force. Now they hunkered above the the main Russian force wondering what they’d do next.
Word came down the line that they were moving out. Jimmy stood on stiff legs keeping his PPSH-41 in front and ready. He was in the second group of ten and once the first group was thirty yards ahead, Sgt. Campbell waved them forward. It was strange to be under Campbell’s command again. Jimmy didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. He was glad the sergeant wasn’t in overall command anymore. He hadn’t really had a plan, and Jimmy felt he’d lead them right into trouble. Major Frink had a better handle on the men, splitting them up into fire teams based on their weapons and experience. Amazingly, each ten man group had their very own medic.
They moved slow. They were well above and away from the Russians but if they were spotted, they’d be fired upon immediately. Their path took them ever higher. As the cliff angled upward they too were forced to follow the contour. Every man was soon gasping for air as they climbed. Each time Jimmy thought they’d come to the top, it would prove to be a false peak and they’d continue upward.
After two hours of climbing they were called to a halt. Jimmy and Hank took long drinks. They’d crossed countless tiny creeks and had no shortage of water. Few of the GIs had any food, though. They’d all left their packs behind in the chaos of battle. A few had chocolate bars in their pockets but they were consumed quickly. Jimmy’s stomach grumbled.
They stayed put for ten minutes. Major Frink spoke with Sergeant Campbell, now his second in command and a few other NCOs. Campbell motioned them to gather around. “We’ve hooked up with a forward blocking force from the main force.” Men smiled with relief and a few punched shoulders. “Don’t get all excited. When the brass heard we’d passed right past the main Russian force they got excited, thought it was too thick up here. They’re sending more men up to join us, bazooka teams and heavy machine guns. They want us to lead them back to that cliff and when the commies advance to contact, hit them in the ass with everything we’ve got.”
There was grumbling and cursing. Jimmy spoke up. “Are they bringing food?”
Campbell nodded, “yep and more ammo too.”
The day was waning toward evening by the time they were back above the field full of Russians. To be effective they had to move right up to the edge of the cliff. Any misstep, sending down a cascade of rocks would’ve alerted the enemy to their presence and they would’ve been shredded. Every GI understood the situation and moved with extreme caution. They spread themselves along the edge of the cliff, using the thick trunks of old-growth forest for protection. They didn’t dig foxholes, wary of making too much noise.
Jimmy and Hank were side by side with their backs against a pair of cow sized boulders. To their right a machine gun crew laid behind their weapon, sweeping the muzzle side to side across the Russian troops, aching to open fire. On the other side, behind more rocks and trees, was a bazooka crew. The stovepipe was propped carefully against a tree, and the pair of GIs quietly ate from K-ration cans. Jimmy couldn’t see far either way due to the thick forest, but he knew a full company of men occupied the area, bristling with weapons and ill intent. It made him feel better about his odds.
Hank leaned close, “Gonna be dark soon. What if they attack at night?”
Jimmy shrugged, “We’ll hear their engines firing up.”
“I can hear ‘em now.”
“Yeah but they’re just keeping ‘em warm or working on them. We’ll know when they attack. We’ll hear the difference.”
“Hope they wait till morning. I hate fighting at night.”
Jimmy grinned and remembered a phrase his father used to say, “Well, hope in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first.”
Hank shook his head. “Fuck you, Jimmy.”
Jimmy realized he hadn’t thought of his father or mother in weeks. His father’d been drafted into the Navy of all things, leaving his mother alone. The last letter he’d received from her told him she started working at a munitions factory. He shook his head trying to imagine his father taking orders and his mother doing factory line work.
Somewhere well behind the Russian force came the familiar booming fire of artillery. In the fading light Jimmy could see the shells ripping across the sky arcing toward the gap where the remnants of friendly forces hung on for dear life. There was no return fire and Jimmy assumed they were either saving it for later or it had been obliterated. The Russians in the valley below would be an incredibly juicy target for artillery and the fact they hadn’t fired on it, told him everything he needed to know.
The enemy artillery continued for twenty minutes. Watching the bright flashing and rumbling booms made Jimmy glad he was where he was.
Hank got his wish. The artillery rained down on and off all night keeping the Americans on their toes and awake, but the Russians stayed put.
An hour before dawn Jimmy was startled awake by the sound of hundreds of T34 tank’s diesel engines turning over. Even from this distance the sound was deafening, like he were at the Indianapolis five hundred’s starting line, times ten. The smell of diesel wafted up to the trees. Hank punched his arm, “That what you meant?” Jimmy nodded and peered around the boulder. It was still dark, but he could see dark shapes of men moving across specks of light from flashlights and tank running lights. The Russians weren’t worried about an air attack.
The sound of roaring aircraft added to the cacophony of engines. He looked up, hoping they’d be friendly planes but although he never saw them, they streaked overhead angling toward the main line. Soon there was rolling thunder as the bombers released their loads over the dug in GIs. Jimmy shook his head, once again thanking his lucky stars he was here and not there.
He took a deep breath and blew it out slow. He’d kept his stolen PPSH-41, but found himself an M1 too. He wanted the more accurate rifle, knowing he’d be spraying and praying from this range with the submachine gun. He knew he could do real damage with the M1, but kept the machine gun in case the battle got close.
Long minutes passed and the darkness ceded to light. Russian troops hunkered behind hulking T34s. There were endless columns spreading as far back as he could see. The only advantage the Americans had was the funneling effect of the pass. Despite their vast numbers, the Russians would only be able to advance four tanks abreast at its narrowest.
A whistle blew and the ground seemed to come alive with gray camouflaged soldiers trotting forward. They funneled into the forest, covered by more streaking artillery fire. Great plumes of smoke rose over the forest obscuring their advance. Soon, there was sporadic firing which blossomed into a constant hammering.
Jimmy aimed his rifle down and picked out a tank commander sitting atop his T34. There was a thick antenna coming from the top, so he assumed it was a command tank. He wondered how many other GIs were aiming at the same man. He decided his shot would be wasted so he scanned more tanks and finally settled on the exposed head of a tank driver. No driver, no drive, he thought.
The fighting from the gap continued unabated. the sounds of gunfire rose and fell like the breaking of ocean waves. Then the tank commander pumped his fist over his head and the column of tanks lurched forward almost in unison.
Jimmy tracked the driver, moving his muzzle slowly over the ground. He wouldn’t fire until given the order but if it wasn’t soon he’d have to find another target, the angle was disappearing quickly.
The first tank disappeared into the trees. Come on, what are we waiting for? The driver’s head disappeared behind the angle of the tank and Jimmy opened both eyes and found another driver’s head two tanks behind. He settled on it, tracking slowly
. From this range he could just make out the man’s facial features. He had a stogie in his mouth and moved it side to side as he steered the beast along the muddy road.
Finally, the order to open fire came from somewhere to his right. He held his breath for an instant and squeezed the trigger. The driver’s head disappeared into the hatch, the stogie resting on the sloped metal. The tank slewed to the left and plowed into the tank beside it. The bazooka team beside him saw the opportunity and fired their armor piercing rocket into the T34’s ass-end. It penetrated just enough to explode inside the engine compartment and great billows of black smoke, tinted with licking flames, erupted from the twin exhaust pipes.
Rockets streaked out from the woods, some penetrating armor, most glancing off the thick sloped metal. Dozens of .30 caliber Browning machine guns opened up almost simultaneously. Russia troops clustered behind the tanks dropped and were run over by following tanks.
The initial assault stunned the Russians. Jimmy fired his rifle as fast as he could pull the trigger, dropping soldiers until his clip pinged. He slid in another and put the stock back against his shoulder. He saw a tank commander duck into his hatch, but he’d forgotten to pull the hatch shut. He waited an instant, then saw the man’s arm extend out and reach for the handle. He had to expose his head and Jimmy fired twice. The commander didn’t emerge and the tank continued forward, hatch still open. Jimmy poured the rest of his clip into the open hatch hoping for a deflection shot. At the very least he’d mess up some circuitry. The tank lurched to a halt, causing the following tanks to move around it to either side.
More rockets lanced from the forest, some scoring hits, others missing or glancing off. There was an explosion in the trees to Jimmy’s left. He cringed and felt wood slivers and tree boughs raining down on him.
Through the smoke, he could see the Russian T34s lining up their muzzles with their position. The initial shock of the attack had worn off and now it was time to take their lumps. Machine gun fire whizzed through the trees, thunking into wood, rock and flesh.
