Forty Miles of Bad Road (fiction)

[jrhume]

Forty Miles of Bad Road

Near Tebessa, Algeria
February 24, 1942

"It's about twenty miles southeast of here," said the staff major -- McNeal, according to his name tag.  His clean fatigues, shined boots and fresh-scrubbed face were in sharp contrast to the men of Baker Company, 2nd Platoon, who had seen neither a laundry nor a shower for the better part of two weeks.  The major shuffled from foot to foot and waited, as if expecting Captain Slim to hop down from where he sat at the back of the truck bed, legs dangling over the edge.

Slim bumped his heels on the metal tailgate and said nothing. 

McNeal made an impatient noise and handed Slim a roughly sketched map.  "Down the Feriana highway about ten miles, then via the south road and an unimproved road for another ten miles or so.  You can be there in a couple of hours."  He took out a clean white handkerchief and patted his forehead.

Captain Slim resisted an impulse to knock the polished helmet liner off the buffoon's empty head.  "A couple hours?  The Krauts might have something to say about that."  He paid attention to the map.  It was all part of the charade.  At first the lines didn't make any sense.  Then he began to fit his own inner map of this part of Algeria and Tunisia with the major's scribbling.  He snorted.  The 'unimproved' road was almost certainly a goat track -- if it existed at all.  "You sure this goes all the way to this Djebel Doha place?"  Slim rotated the map and ran a finger along the purported road.  He thought of a fitting comment.  "What drunk drew this thing?"

The major managed a grim look, in spite of his pink face.  "I drew it, captain.  A fuel truck will be coming up shortly, along with ammunition and rations."

Slim smoothed the map and folded it.  "What about enemy forces along the route, major?  For that matter, what about friendly forces?  Someone at HQ must have a glimmering of an idea where our own people are."

McNeal flushed a deeper red.  "Things are a little confused, captain.  You'll have to be careful."  He glanced at his watch.  "I'll expect you to be moving within the hour."

Slim spat into the dust.  "Right, sir."  Engine noises swelled behind him.

"Some of ours," said Corporal Infanteer from his position at the .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the truck bed.  Four P-40s roared overhead and disappeared to the east.  When Slim turned back McNeal was nowhere in sight.

Sergeant Franko coughed.  He was perched on a large boulder cradling a Thompson.  "Under the truck, sir."  He pointed with a grimy paw.

Slim jumped down and peered under the mud-encrusted truck.  "Is it all clear?" asked the now pale and sweating staff major.

"Sure.  Come on out.  I don't think they saw us, sir."  Obviously, the idiot thought the planes were German.

"I thought we were goners!"  A smear of axle grease adorned one side of McNeal's helmet and his creased fatigues were splotched with mud.

Corporal Infanteer hopped down beside Slim as the major climbed into his jeep and drove away.  "I think he pissed his pants."

"Yeah."  Franko laughed.  "That'll be good enough for a silver star."

"Nah."  Slim shook his head.  "He ain't Air Corp.  Probably only get a bronze with V."

Private Baker, Slim's driver, joined the group.  "What's up, boss?"  The other men sidled away from the rotund private.  He was not known as Rocketman because of an interest in science.

Slim motioned Franko off his rock and spread a Guide Michelin map on it.  "The brass hats want us in Djebel Doha in the next few hours.  Rumor, often referred to as 'Intelligence' has it that Jerry has a fuel dump there.  We're to blow it up."

"A fuel dump?"  Infanteer chuckled.  "The Germans are short of fuel.  That's the only reason we're not swimming back to New York right now."

"Why would the Krauts have a dump in a dump like that?" asked Baker.  No one laughed.  They knew from painful experience that it just encouraged him.

Slim folded the map and stuffed it in his case.  "You can ask them when we get there.  There'll be a gas truck along shortly.  Top off all the vehicles and fill every extra can."

"We better take plenty of water, too," said Franko.  "It looks dry in that direction."

Infanteer lit a cigar and tossed the match to one side.  "It looks dry in every direction.  Except where the mud is axle deep."

The arrival of a fuel tanker ended the discussion.


A few minutes later four more vehicles rolled up the road from the direction of Tebessa.  Colonel Bobbit led the way in his jeep, followed by a truck, a Stuart tank and a half-track.  The colonel stopped next to Slim's jeep.  They exchanged salutes. 

Bobbit handed over a fresh cigar.  "There's ammunition and rations in the truck.  The cigar is compliments of a French officer back in Algiers."

Slim inhaled the aroma.  "I hope you brought more than one."

"There are a couple boxes for you and your men.  I liberated a dozen from the villa."

"Liberated?  I take it the French officer was dead?"

The colonel shrugged.  "Dead or a prisoner somewhere.  He didn't need the cigars."

The Stuart tank turned off the road and rolled to a stop in a shallow wadi.  Slim eyed the colonel.  "Is that an escort for you or reinforcement for me?"

"Just like the cigars, Slim, the tank and half-track are for you.  I figured you might need some help getting to Djebel Doha."

A short, dark-haired man jumped off the tank and waved the half-track into position a short distance down the road.  Slim approved.  Whoever this new tanker was, he'd been shot at enough to appreciate such cover as there was and he knew how to place his vehicles for defense.  Men dismounted from the half-track and tank.  One lookout remained on each unit, on watch behind a .50 caliber machine gun.

The tank commander saluted as he approached.  Colonel Bobbit returned the salute and tossed him a cigar.  "Captain Slim, meet Lieutenant Fusilier, formerly of the 1st Armored Division."

"Still of the 1st Armored," replied Fusilier.  "Your pet major won't let me go back."  He shook hands with Slim.  "He volunteered me for your little jog down to Doha."

"I leave you in the captain's capable hands," said Bobbit.  His driver piled three boxes of cigars on the hood of Slim's jeep.  The colonel waved and started for his jeep.  "Our Major McNeal is pretty good at pushing paper -- and he's not really an asshole -- he just comes across that way."

"Well," said Slim.  He lit his cigar and offered his lighter to Fusilier.  "What did you do to earn the enmity of the asshole major?"

The lieutenant declined the lighter.  He tucked the cigar away.  "I was standing in the wrong place."

"And where was this wrong place?  Tebessa?"

"Algeria.  And before that, Tunisia and Morocco.  Major McNeal types are everywhere."

Slim grinned and exhaled a stream of fragrant smoke.  "Man, that's good.  So how did you get sprung loose from the 1st?"

"Just lucky, I guess.  We were on the prowl, north of Sbeitla, looking for Germans.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  Lovely place.  Full of exotic blown-up buildings and robed natives, some of whom are alleged to be female."

"Sounds nice.  Just like every other desert town I've motored through lately.  So you were in Sbeitla when the balloon went up?"

"Not only was I there, I may have fired the first wild shot of the affair," said Fusilier.  "We were on the lookout for the famed Africa Corps, as I mentioned."

Slim liked the brash lieutenant already.  He fell into the spirit of the exchange.  "Indeed you did.  You were seeking Germans, specifically."

"Found them, too.  Our opposite numbers, in fact.  A scouting formation, wandering the African night, looking for Americans."

"So what happened?"

"We fired.  They fired.  The shooting became general, as the generals like to say.  It was exciting and even fun for all of ten seconds.  Then Jerry rolled out a couple of Mark Vs and we had to leave the ball early."  Fusilier stopped abruptly.  The boyish grin faded.

Neither man spoke for a moment.  Slim broke the silence.  "How many did you lose?"

"Almost all of them."  Fusilier spoke in a near whisper.  "Half the time we didn't even know where we were.  I remember being out of gas twice."  He looked back at his tank.  "That's my third tank in nine days.  Belonged to my platoon sergeant.  Shell from an 88 cut him in half three--four days ago, in the hills above Kasserine.  We haven't had time to clean up all the dried blood."  The words trickled to a stop.

"Jesus," muttered Slim.  "That's worse than what happened to us."

Fusilier rubbed at his eyes, as if erasing something.  "What -- what have you been doing?"

"Nothing like that.  Not at first."  Slim motioned toward the south.  "I was out that way.  We were to check out a couple of alleged water sources and look for Germans.  I had half the platoon.  The rest were probably up at Kasserine, with you, if they're still alive."

"This isn't half a platoon," said Fusilier.

"No, it isn't.  We were ordered east, toward Feriana, then they decided we ought to go to Dernia.  We ran out of fuel and sat for two days.  Why the Germans didn't find us I'll never know.  Then the brass sent us back to the Feriana-Tebessa road and we rolled west.  Twice we shot up German supply trucks.  We ended up here after a running gun battle with a mixed force of armored cars and tanks."  He looked around at his vehicles and at the men working to refuel and rearm them.  "This is what's left.  Two tanks, two jeeps and one gun truck.  Sixteen men."

"Twenty-five men," said Fusilier.  "I've got nine."

"Well, hell.  I'll bet the Germans will crap their pants when they hear the news.  Baker company has been reinforced!  Three light tanks and twenty-five men!  Shit!"


(to be continued)

 

[jrhume]

Task Force Viper
On the Tebessa-Feriana Road
February 24, 1942

The diminutive task force moved out early that afternoon.  They rolled southeast under a solid overcast, though it hadn't rained since the day before.  Slim noted with satisfaction that the desert was drying rapidly.  He hated being road-bound.  It hampered his ability to see and avoid threats.

Sergeant Franko led the way in a jeep.  Corporal Che, followed the sergeant in the second jeep.  Both lead vehicles carried radios.  Franko used the call sign Rattler.  Che used Cobra.  Captain Slim was Viper.

Sergeant Dragoon, call sign Python, commanded the other surviving Baker company tank.  His transmitter hadn't operated for days, but the receiver worked fine.  He swung onto the road behind Che's jeep.  Slim followed.  The task force elements maintained a fifty yard interval. 

Infanteer's gun truck and the half-track rolled behind Slim.  Neither were equipped with a radio.  Fusilier brought up the rear.  He had agreed to use Sidewinder as his call sign.  Slim thought the whole snake thing was so much horse manure, but they had to use some sort of tactical call signs and these weren't any dumber than others he'd heard.

The terrain was open and flat, though Slim knew that the flatness was deceptive.  Shallow wadis crisscrossed the desert and they were often invisible until you drove into them.  Gravel flats alternated with sand and crusted mud in a bewildering manner.  Low mountains, representing the spine of the Western Dorsals, rose up all around.  Ahead he could see the first pass on their route.  Brown and mostly bare, the hills supported a thin scattering of scruffy bushes, now gray-green from the recent rains.

Franko came on the net.  "Rattler to Viper, over."

Slim raised the mike.  "Viper here.  Go." 

"The south road turnoff is just beyond the pass.  There's a friendly artillery battery about a mile past the fork.  I'm above the road on the left.  No bad guys in sight."

Che stood beside his jeep at the turnoff.  His job was to make sure everyone went the right way.  Beyond the intersection the road narrowed.  To the right lay an undulating gravel plain giving way to desert in the distance.  Bleak hills continued on the left.  Wherever the road crossed one of the wadis, tracked and wheeled vehicles had churned the surface into a morass.

At the first such crossing, Sergeant Franko waited.  Dragoon swung his tank left and stopped short of the jeep.  Slim halted a short distance behind the first tank and angled his mount to the right.  The trucks rolled to a halt further back. 

Slim jumped to the ground as Franko trotted up.  "We'll have to send tanks across first, sir.  The ground has dried quite a bit, but it's rough as hell and there's mud underneath.  We may have to tow the jeeps."

"Right.  Get 'em across."  Slim glanced at the cluster of 105mm howitzers on the slope above the road.  "I'll go up and talk to the battery commander.  It never hurts to know an artilleryman."

Franko laughed.  "Bite your tongue, sir!"  He motioned for the truck and half-track to come forward, then headed back toward the lead tank.  Slim started up the slope toward the guns.

A staff-sergeant with his left arm in a sling met him about halfway up.  He grinned as Slim puffed up the steep trail.  "Sergeant Lance, sir.  You heading south?"

"Right.  A place called Djebel Doha.  You know it?"

"Sure.  We were set up there five, maybe six days ago.  Germans ran right over us."

"Jesus!  How'd you get away?"

"They didn't stop.  Just blasted the hell out of everything and disappeared over the hill."

"How bad were you hurt?  Can you give me fire support?"

Lance jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  "I got two guns and a fair amount of ammo.  The lieutenant was killed in the attack.  We went north and set up on the Thelepte road.  When our guys bugged out toward Tebessa, we hid in the hills up above here for two days.  Yesterday we saw Germans moving south with some of our tanks on their heels, so we moved down here.  You're the first organized outfit I've seen since then."

"Some of our tanks?  What kind?  Any idea where they went?"  Slim would be only too happy to link up with a few Shermans.

"Light tanks, like yours.  No idea where they went, sir.  They never talked to us."

"Okay."  Slim watched as Dragoon plowed across the wadi, leaving a fairly decent path for the trucks.  It looked like the jeeps would be able to cross on their own.  He turned back to Kelly.  "What's your frequency?"

"I doubt you can use it, sir.  But we can monitor yours.  We been collecting all the usable radios we can find.  Our call sign is Lanyard."

"Lanyard it is."  Slim gave Lance a frequency to monitor.  "Mine is Viper, but consider any request from a snake to be from me."

"Right, sir.  We'll listen for snakes."  He chuckled.  "Good luck down there.  The Germans may be pulling back, but they never seem to run very far."

"Indeed they do not."  The men exchanged salutes.  Slim loped down toward his tank.

Lieutenant Fusilier's tank sat on the road, idling.  Slim trotted over.  Fusilier pulled off his helmet so he could hear.  "You want me to stay at drag?" he asked.

"Yeah.  The asshole major's goat track takes off to the left a few miles down the road.  Don't get lost."  Fusilier laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.  Slim mounted up and the two tanks wallowed through the mud to rejoin the others.


(to be continued)

 

[Slim]

Wow, great story J. I can almost taste the cigar! :fifty: :soldier:

Slim

 

[jrhume]

Ambush!
Unimproved road north of Djebel Doha
February 24, 1942

The goat track was easy to find.  Franko reported no other possible turnoffs for at least two miles down the south road.  Che started south along the rough trace, visible mostly because tracked vehicles had used it recently.  Slim waved Dragoon and the two trucks forward.  He hoped fervently that the preceding vehicles had been American.

Fusilier stopped alongside Slim's tank.  "What's the plan?"

"Follow the others as rear security.  According to my maps, the terrain is fairly open around the right side of these next two ridges.  Franko and I will scout around that side and join up at the pass this side of Doha.  We won't be far away."

"Okay."  Fusilier marked his own map.  "Be careful out there.  We could play hell trying to support you if you get into some crap."

Slim waited until Fusilier's tank cleared the south road before moving out.  He called Franko and told him what they were going to do.

"Roger," said the sergeant.  "I'm leaving the road about half a mile west of your position.  Heading due south.  There's a wadi leading toward the big hill -- the closest one.  I'll use that for cover."

Slim followed the south road for about five hundred yards, then turned southwest along the lower slopes of the larger ridge.  Oriented north-south and no more than a hundred feet in height, the ridge lay to the west of the Doha goat track.  The second ridge appeared to be somewhat lower and lay on a northeast-southwest axis.  Slim's tank rolled over bare gravel beds interspersed with sandy hillocks supporting scattered brush.  The recent rains had obliterated any sign of passing vehicles.  No one had traveled through the area for at least a couple of days.

His radio crackled.  "Viper, Rattler has Germans in sight."  Slim called for a halt.  The Stuart rolled to a stop and sat idling.  He swept the ridge ahead with his field glasses.

"Where are you, Rattler?"

"About two hundred yards to your front."

Slim saw the jeep even as Franko spoke.  It was parked on the near side of a large boulder lying at the base of the ridge.  "I have you in sight, Rattler.  Where are the Germans?"

"There's a mortar squad about two hundred yards south.  They're right in line with the notch between the two ridges.  They can't be alone."

Ice formed in Slim's gut.  The rest of his unit was on the other side of the ridge and probably nearing the notch Franko spoke of.  As he raised his mike he heard the unmistakable whipcrack of a high-velocity cannon.  Dust puffed on the shoulder of the larger ridge.  Static flared in his headset, the crackling mixed with broken words.

"Sidewinder, Viper!  Come in, over!"  The only response was an unintelligible burst of static.  He called again.

An excited voice came up.  "Python is hit!"  It sounded like Che.  A machine gun thudded in the background.

"Cobra, Viper here.  What's the situation?"

More noise mixed with bits of words.  Slim heard the thump-thump of outgoing mortar rounds.  It was time to do something constructive.

"Rattler!  Take the mortar crew under fire.  I'll go out to the right a little and see if I can reach that gun!"

"Gotcha, boss!  Watch your ass out there!  If you can reach him -- he can reach you."

The captain didn't answer.  His tank lurched forward and angled to the right, away from the ridge.  They rolled through a swale between two sand hills and into the wadi Franko had used in his approach.  The Stuart blasted across the jeep tracks and bounded over the low bank bordering the wadi.  Slim halted again behind a gravel mound.  It gave him a modicum of cover. 

Another whipcrack echoed across the desert.  "Target!" called Slim, glasses glued to the rising dust on the ridge.  "Anti-tank gun.  Nine o'clock."

"I see the dust," said the gunner.  "It must be behind the rocks.  Is it an 88?"

The gunner's question was a serious one.  Their armor couldn't stand up to a direct hit from a German 50mm anti-tank round.  An 88mm round would rip them to pieces.  Their only chance lay in hitting first.

"Sounds like a 50 to me.  Put a couple rounds into those rocks," said Slim.  "He's hitting our guys on the other side.  We can at least get his attention."

"Yeah," said the gunner.  "That's what I was afraid of."

Their 37mm pop-gun fired.  "Hit," yelled Slim.  One of the rocks vanished in a cloud of smoke and dust.  He thought he glimpsed men running.  "Keep shooting!  Smack those rocks!"  The harsh bark of a .50 caliber machine gun rolled off the ridge.  Franko was tearing at the mortar position.  The 37mm barked again.

"Go," yelled Slim.  "Left!  Make for the gap between the hills.  Gunner!  Load high explosive.  There's a mortar position ahead."

"HE up!" 

"Target, truck!  Two o'clock!"  The turret slewed right.

"I got the target!" screamed the gunner.  "Stop!"  The tank slid to a stop.  The gunner fired one shot into the truck.  It began to burn.

"Hit!"  Slim searched the area with his glasses.  "Target!  Mortar pit, eleven o'clock."

The mortar tube was already lying on its side, but Slim put a round into it, just for general principles.  Several bodies lay near the tube.  He could see figures scrambling up the smaller ridge.  "Go!  Take us up through the gap!"  Again, the Stuart bounded forward.  Slim grabbed his machine gun and sprayed lead at the retreating men.

"Stop," said Slim.  The tank rolled to a halt a few yards short of the destroyed mortar position.  "We can't get up here, guys.  Good job."

"What about that AT gun, sir?"

Flames and thick black smoke boiled above the gun position.  He could hear machine guns and the sporadic crack of rifles.  "The gun has had it."

Franko and his driver slid to a stop beside the Stuart.  "Any word from the others?"

"Shit!"  Slim grabbed his mike.  "I'm supposed to be in charge of this circus, ain't I?"

He called on the platoon frequency.  No reply.  After a second call, Lanyard answered.  "Viper, this is Lanyard.  We can hear Cobra.  You want a relay?"

"Affirmative, Lanyard.  Just ask for a situation report."

Lanyard relayed the request.  Slim could hear a tinny, unreadable voice answering.  He leaned over toward Franko.  "We're going to have to go around the north end of this smaller ridge."

"No, sir.  There's a cut near the big boulder I was using for cover.  A road angles up toward the notch.  The Germans must have gotten that damn gun up that way."

Franko led the way.  Lanyard came up with a message.  "We talked with Cobra, Viper.  Sidewinder is around a corner and can't hear us.  Cobra says they're mopping up some German infantry to the southwest of the gap.  Your own infantry is on the other ridge.  Does that make sense, Viper?"

Slim turned so he could see the gap.  A lone figure waved a rifle from above the burning AT gun.  "Lanyard, please relay to Cobra that Rattler and Viper will be coming through the notch in about five minutes."

It took more than fifteen minutes to grind their way up the rough road.  A single Stuart sat in the narrow flat between the ridges, cannon pointing southwest.  To Slim's left and about thirty yards up the slope lay a 50mm anti-tank gun, wheels in the air.  A small truck burned nearby.  A huddle of gray-clad bodies sprawled near the gun.

Slim stopped next to the other tank.  Fusilier swung down, carrying a Thompson.  The captain retrieved his carbine and joined him.

Fusilier's face made it plain there was bad news.  They walked around behind the tanks to where the Doha road was visible.  The road looped around an out-thrust point and curved up toward the notch, then turned back left along the smaller ridge.

"They fired as Python made the turn nearest the notch," said Fusilier.  Dragoon's tank slumped in the road below.  The left track lay strung out behind and the turret had been flung some yards away to land upside down beside the road.  Smoke poured from the rear of the vehicle.

Fusilier pointed further down the road.  "I was at the first turn.  When Python took the first hit, the gun truck went off the road to the left and stopped in the wadi.  Your man Infanteer took the notch above under fire with his heavy machine gun."

The half-track sat on the road near the smaller ridge.  A lone man stood behind the machine gun.  The lieutenant continued with his report.  "I went to the right, as did the half-track.  By that time Python had been hit again.  Mortar rounds started hitting the road.  I don't mind telling you, things were looking pretty bleak from where I sat."  He turned and looked at the dismounted AT gun.  "I couldn't hit that bastard without driving into the open.  We were in a pickle until the mortar rounds stopped and the AT gun quit firing.  That must have been your doing."

"Yeah.  Franko hosed down the mortar crew and we put a couple rounds into the rocks near the gun.  I figured we could make the bastards duck."

"I knew something was going on," said Fusilier, "so we rolled out into the open and there he was, in plain sight.  They must have had the gun pulled back out of sight as we drove up the road.  We hit it on with our second round.  Then some idiot Kraut backed that truck out -- trying to turn it around, I guess -- and we nailed him too."

Slim glanced up above the gun position.  "I suppose they had infantry up above?"

"Right.  But they barreled down the hill and took off along the smaller ridge after the AT gun was knocked out.  Our own guys had dismounted and were working up the slope back where the half-track went to ground."  Fusilier walked around his tank and peered toward the south, at the pass leading toward Djebel Doha.  "Cobra found a good position further up and was able to put fire on the Jerry infantry."

"I heard him saying Python had been hit," said Slim.  "But he couldn't hear me."

Fusilier kicked a rock and sent it bounding down the slope.  "Damn radios!  When you don't need them, they work fine."  He was clearly worked up over the loss of Dragoon and the other three men in the Stuart.

Slim glanced at the burning tank.  Four more letters to write.  All good men.  Just like the thirty of so others he'd lost in the last two weeks.  "Come on," he said.  His voice was harsh.  "Where are the rest of the Germans?"

"Ten or so got away, towards Doha."  He put his back against the tank and ran a hand through his hair.  "The bastards will be expecting us.  I'm -- I'm sorry about your men."

"Nothing you could do.  Everybody reacted as they should have.  We couldn't have done much better even if we'd been able to talk to one another."  Slim looked down at the burning Stuart and back up where the German truck still blazed.  "The Krauts had the best position and were able to take the first shots.  It's hard to keep from getting hurt when that happens."

"Yeah."  Fusilier turned towards the pass leading to Djebel Doha.  "What now?"

"We get our shit together.  And go kill Germans.  There are probably some waiting for us on the other side of that pass, in a town neither of us would give a dollar for."



(to be continued)

 

[Bruce Monkhouse]

HURRY>>HURRY>>!!!!!

 

[jrhume]

The Assault
Northwest of Djebel Doha
February 24, 1942

In the late evening Task Force Viper laagered up in the pass above Doha.  The pass was nothing more than a shallow depression between two rounded hills.  On Captain Slim's instructions, Che located a defensible spot west of the goat track near the crest of the western hill.  The village was just visible over a shoulder of the eastern ridge.

Fusilier and Slim walked the perimeter as night settled over the Western Dorsals.

"Did you report in?" asked Fusilier.

"Yeah.  I had Lanyard relay our situation report.  We're monitoring battalion net, but there's been no traffic.  The radio is probably busted."

Sergeant Franko walked into camp as the two officers finished their inspection.  Slim led the way to a small tent.  The three men crawled in.  Fusilier made sure the flap was closed tight and then produced a flashlight.  Franko unfolded a hand-drawn map.

"I went down this spur that juts out from the hill.  It tapers off just west of the village.  The Germans are set up in an arc starting fifty yards or so above the tip of that spur.  Their line appears to run south, across the road into a gravel hump.  The country south is flat and open.  Gravel and sand cut with wadis, like always."

Slim traced the spur.  "So the road runs between the end of the spur and this small gravel hill?"

"It ain't much of a hill, sir.  No more than five or ten feet above the surrounding area."

"What about vehicles?  Tanks?" asked Fusilier.

"I only saw two rigs.  One is a big half-track.  The other looked like the one we blew away this afternoon.  Five bucks says that one is pulling an AT cannon."

"No bet," said Slim.  "But where is the cannon?"

Franko shrugged.  "Didn't see it.  I can take another look in the morning.  I'd say it's either dug into the side of that gravel hill or up on the spur."

"Yeah."  Slim stared at the little map.  "Lanyard was set up here at one time.  I'll give 'em a call.  See if they can lay some rounds in there tomorrow."

"Where's the village in relation to the spur?" asked Fusilier.

"East of the spur, about two hundred yards, sir.  It's north of the road and above it, on a small plateau.  The Krauts will have to retreat over the plateau or down the road."

Slim folded the map and tucked it away.  "They could be reinforced the same way."

"I don't think so," said Franko.  "They had us on the run a few days ago.  Now they're falling back and it's not because the US Army kicked their ass.  The Germans are at the end of their tether.  Out of fuel or nearly so."

"True," agreed Fusilier.  "But that doesn't mean they won't bloody our noses a few times as they go.  Like this afternoon."

Captain Slim sighed.  "Yeah.  Like this afternoon."  He crawled out of the tent.  The others followed.  "Tomorrow, we'll take our time.  Look the place over.  The Krauts might leave on their own."

Fusilier disagreed.  "Not if they're covering a fuel dump.  We'll have to kick them out."

"I didn't see anything like that looked like a fuel dump," said Quiet Man.  "But it wouldn't be large and it isn't difficult to camouflage a small one."

"We'll still take our time," repeated Slim.  "I don't want to lose any more men."

The lieutenant's laugh had a bitter edge.  "What about Major McNeal, sir?  He seemed in a hurry for us to take this flea-speck of a town."

"Fuck McNeal.  He's not looking down the barrel of German AT guns from a tank with armor so thin it will hardly turn a nasty glance.  If he brings me a couple of Shermans and a company of infantry we'll take Doha tonight."  He stared at the blood-red western horizon.  "Get some rest."

Slim climbed into his tank and called Sergeant Lance.  "Lanyard.  You guys awake?"

"Lanyard is up.  Go ahead."

"This is Viper.  We're near our objective.  When you were here, where was your camp?"

"West of the village, Viper.  On the east side of a small ridge."

There was death in Slim's grin.  "I thought as much, Lanyard.  Set that position up for your initial targeting in the morning.  We'll correct from there."

"I'd say Jerry is lazy, Viper, but when we were in Doha we set up in an existing German camp ourselves.  No sense digging new latrines and slit trenches, you know."

"Nothing an artilleryman does surprises me, Lanyard.  Higher-higher thinks the Germans have a fuel dump near the village.  You've been there.  Where would it be?"

"Let me look at our site sketches, Viper.  I'll call if we come up with anything."

"Roger that.  Viper out."


Morning came in under leaden skies.  Fusilier and Slim sat on adjoining rocks, eating a C-ration breakfast.  "I don't like the look of those clouds, sir."

Slim shrugged.  "Me neither.  But we can't do anything about them.  If it rains we'll get wet and bogged down.  So will the Krauts."

Franko came back from his early scout as the unit prepared to break camp.

"Anything new?" asked Fusilier.

"Not much." 

"Let's get everyone together," said Slim.

It was a sand table exercise -- on a real stretch of sand.  Slim used a broken piece of antenna to draw with. 

"There will be three phases to our attack.  First: Lanyard, our artillery friends, will hit the German campsite when we call for fire."  He pointed to Fusilier.  "Second: When the shelling starts, you will take your tank and the half-track and head down the pass.  Stay west of the road.  Use wadis where you can.  Run south about a mile then loop back toward the village.  That should take you in behind the German forces.  Play it by ear once you make your turn."  Fusilier nodded.

Slim continued.  "Third: I'll go down the road with Infanteer's truck following."  He looked at the lanky corporal.  "Follow me down only until you can find a spot with decent protection and within machine gun range of the Germans.  Provide cover fire."

Infanteer glanced at Baker.  "What about that damn AT gun, sir?  A 50mm cannon can shoot a lot further than my fifty."

"Good question."  Slim grinned.  "I don't know the answer."  Everyone laughed, though with little actual hilarity.  "I'm going to continue down the road, using such cover as I can find.  Sooner or later the AT gun will fire at one of us.  Then I'll put arty on his ass.  Or Fusilier will if I'm hit."

Someone coughed.  "Can't the Air Corps take care of this one, sir?"

This time the laughter was real, if strained.  "Sure," said Franko.  "We could get the Air Corps to bomb the place -- if there were any planes around -- and if we could talk to them -- and if they had any bombs.  They blew away a lot of camels in the last few weeks."  It was a stale joke, but they all laughed anyway.  His expression grew serious.  "But the Air Corps is on stand-down.  They ran out of medals and until a new batch can be stamped out -- well, it's up to us."

Baker cut a long, loud fart.  Men pushed and shoved to get clear of the private.

"Thank you Rocketman," said Slim.  "Briefing is over.  Mount up!"  He kicked sand over his tactical map.

Che watched the captain erase his handiwork.  "This is fun, sir.  Almost like being back home, playing football down behind the steel mill.  We'd draw out plays like that -- in the dirt."

"Yeah."  Slim glanced down toward Djebel Doha.  "But the guys on the opposite side weren't looking to kill you."

The corporal lit a cigarette.  "Oh yeah?  You never played in my neighborhood, sir."


"Shot out," said Lanyard.

Slim focused his field glasses on the German position.  He could see men running to their places.  There was still no sign of the AT gun.  He tried to swallow and could not.  His tank was sheltered by a large boulder, but he'd soon have to leave that protection and move downhill.

Out to the right he caught occasional glimpses of Fusilier's little force.  No way the Krauts would miss the dust thrown up by the moving vehicles.

A pair of dirty black and gray explosions bloomed on the road behind the Germans.  He raised the mike.  "Left 100, down 100, Lanyard."

"Roger.  Left 100, down 100."  Long seconds ticked away.  Infanteer began firing at the visible positions dug into the end of the spur.  There was no return fire.  "Shot out."

Fusilier was making his turn.  Slim thought it was too soon, but he knew how hard it was to judge distance out on the flats.  "Come on -- come on."  Two shells struck behind the spur.  Bits of canvas and lumber fluttered down with the dust and dirt.  "Spot on, Lanyard.  Fire for effect."

"Lanyard, roger.  Fire for effect."

"Let's go," said Slim.  His Stuart lurched forward. 

Shells began arriving in pairs about twenty seconds apart.  The impact points clustered around the German camp.  A tiny burst on the small gravel hill flung dirt into the air.  Fusilier, thought Slim.  The lieutenant was firing on the Kraut position with his pop-gun. 

Slim raised his mike to adjust Lanyard's rounds.  A bright flash winked on the near side of the spur.  "Stop!" he screamed.  "Stop!"  Treads locked the tank rocked forward.  The captain slammed into the forward edge of the hatch.  Sparks shot into the air and sound beat at him as a shell glanced from the forward glacis and screeched away.  "Back!  Back!"  He turned, seeking cover.  A second shell smacked a boulder on the far side of the road.  Chunks of rock hummed overhead.  Pieces bounced across the road.

"Jesus!" Slim glanced down at the gunner.  "If we hadn't stopped . . ."  He gripped the edge of the hatch and looked for a place to hide.  "Right a little.  We can get off this fucking road and . . ." 

Down below, on the south side of the road, just beyond the spur, the mound Franko described as a gravel hill, split open in a burst of yellow.  Slim, looking away, saw the flare of actinic light and dropped into the interior of his tank.  A hammer-blow of sound blew by seconds later. 

Fusilier slammed to a stop, blinking away the effects of the flash.  His gunner dragged him down just before the blast hit.

Infanteer fell back into the bed of his truck where Baker crouched, in the act of opening a fresh box of ammo.  When the echoing explosion died away, Infanteer climbed to his feet and shook dust from his hair.  "Damn, Rocketman," he said.  "Sounds like one of the Krauts had beans last night.  A relative of yours?"




Back at the Pass
Near the ruins of Djebel Doha
February 25, 1942

Slim pressed his earphones tight against his ears.  Battalion could barely be heard.  He raised the mike.  "Affirmative, major, the supply dump contained ammunition, not fuel.  I repeat, no fuel.  Artillery set off the explosives."

Task Force Viper was laagered up at the same site as on the previous night.  Fusilier and Franko stood listening to Slim.

"Negative, sir.  We are not in the village.  It no longer exists.  Affirmative, the explosion blew it flat."  He looked at the other two and rolled his eyes.  "Negative.  There were no locals in the village.  The Germans must have cleared it."

"Negative.  I repeat, negative.  Task Force Viper is nearly out of fuel.  Roger, sir.  We will stay in the pass until relieved."

Slim tossed the headset aside.  "Major McNeal wanted us to head on down and take Feriana.  He sounded disappointed.  The glory-hunting bastard!"

"I'm not surprised," said Fusilier.  "I'll bet the sonuvabitch intended for us to use the Jerry fuel to get there."  He laughed suddenly and pointed at a group of trucks laboring up the goat track.  "Isn't that Lanyard?"

Slim swept the approaching vehicles with his field glasses.  "It is.  Damn.  They'll be looking for a slap on the back and a bottle of whiskey."

Franko slammed his helmet to the ground.  "Damn artillerymen!  There goes the neighborhood!"


End 

 

[whitefang2004]

Great story, Old Guy!!

You got any more?

 

[brin11]

Excellent story!  Keep 'em coming.

 

[jrhume]

Thanks, folks.

Just a note:  I'm not really prejudiced against artillery persons.  Really I'm not.