Breakthrough (The Red Gambit Series) (63 page)

“A long
, long,
dead cow.”

The
putrefaction
was all
pervasive,
and a hand pressed to the face
, seeking to seal the nose,
did not
hing to
keep the abhorrence at bay.

Speaking through his fingers, Crisp issued a swift direction.

“Jesus,
JJ,
but go and get yourself cleaned up before the cavalry decide they don’t wanna rescue us after all!”

The afflicted officer ma
de his way back down the stairs,
but the awful smell lingered long after he had gone.

However, for some re
a
son known only to those who have
shared
the rigours and comradeship of
combat,
wide
grins like
Cheshire
cats were everywhere, even on the Corporal who had nearly killed his commander.

“Right men,” and pointing to Hawkes, “Let’s get this place secured,” and to his radioman, “And get me King Company on the horn now.”

Finding a stepladder, Hawkes and two men prepared to check out the loft.

It contained only the dead bodies of three
Soviet
soldiers.

The reports were all in from Crisp’s units, every objective having been carried in good time.

Fox
Company had
taken more casualties but the
Soviet
s had fallen back, resorting to light mortaring, seemingly closing up shop for the day.

George Company had done their job in record time
, and King Company had suffered few casualties in achieving their first objectives.

For Item Company, 370th Colored Infantry Regiment, the Rothaus has indeed proved a tough nut, earning its name as it ran with the blood of men from both sides.

It had taken three assaults to clear the position of enemy, costing thirty-eight dead and as many wounded.

Perversely
, it was the ravaged Item Company that was first relieved by a unit from Petersen’s force, the recon troops of the 2
nd
/1st Brazilian Cavalry, late to the field but now in the van.

Along the 101st’s line, purple smoke marked friendly positions to the relieving forces as the mission moved from success to success.

Soviet
artillery now started to build in its intensity, both George and King companies taking casualties.

A tank and infantry appeared
to the south
, driving hard straight at them, following the west bank of the stream at speed.

“Enemy to front!”

No order to fire was given but the Airborne started to lash out,
Soviet
soldiers dropping to cover immediately.

The tank crew were confused, expecting friendly troops in the farm ahead.

Beside them, the infantry got a DP28 working, its bullets seeking targets in the nearest windows.

The bazooka team sprang into action and moved to the stream, hugging the bank in an effort to close with the T34.

They were spotted by the infantry and both men picked off in short order.

More
Soviet
infantry appeared, following in the tanks track marks, coinciding with some of the arrival of the American rearguard elements from Eggenthal.

The tank, satisfied now that the enemy were ahead, started to pump high-explosive shells into the farmhouse.

The second shell started a fire on the ground floor, the smoke from which soon pervaded the whole building and made conditions awful for those inside.

The Airborne battalion’s mortars were directed to hit the new arrivals but their fire was inaccurate
,
and the burning farmhouse and accurate machine-gun fire prevented any decent sighting and direction.

Under cover of their DP and the T34, the
Soviet
infantry, now swollen to about sixty in number, launched a flank attack, utilising the
cover of the
stream.

Crisp had anticipated this and had positioned one of his surviving .30 cal’s to guard the route, supported by a
squad
of troopers.

The
Soviet
assault fa
iled, the soldiers pulling back,
leaving a dozen
dead and wounded
men behind.

As they gathered themselves for another effort
,
their tank took a telling hit, the engine compartment starting to burn fiercely. A second hit blew the turret off the vehicle and the whole crew perished in an instant.

Two Pershings from B/702nd had engaged the
Soviet
tank
from behind,
and killed it.

The imminent arrival of tanks and armored infantry in their rear
,
combined with the stubborn defence of the Airborne to their front
,
was too much and the
Soviet
infantry threw down their weapons and
started to
surrender.

An officer started to shout and scream, threatening his men with everything the
Soviet
State
could throw at them, but to no avail.
He sunk to the ground when he realised his men were done, throwing his pistol into the stream and hiding his head in his arms in shame.

Crisp, returning from having overseen the repulse of the stream attack
,
noticed
an
important
omission and scream
ed at his men.

“Purple Smoke! Use purple smoke now!”

An E8 Sherman moving alongside the Pershings
,
had spotted movement and, even as the airborne men threw their markers, a shell was sent on its way.

The 76mm high-explosive shell
clipped
the corner of the farmhouse, deflecting very slightly from its course, zipped across the
putrefying
corpse of a cow
,
and into
the
garage.

Inside the garage was an aid station, where the wounded of both sides were being given comfort by the 2nd Battalion medics.

Twenty-one
died in the blink of an eye, the
highly
effective shell exploding against the far
wall just below a high window.

Three men were pulled from the flames, two Russians and one badly wounded Eagle.

The garage burn
ed steadily, consuming the dead; five Soviet soldiers and thirteen US Paratroopers, along with three medical personnel, including the newly-arrived
replacement
Battalion Medical Officer.

Purple smoke wafted around Goodnight Farm, taunting the defenders and the relieving force
, reminding the survivors that the damage had already been done
.

Satisfied
that nothing
more
could be done, Major Crisp
occupied himself with organising the removal of the remaining wounded and getting his force out intact.

Soviet
artillery was beginning to draw closer to his position
,
so there was some urgency to his efforts.

Hawkes and a squad had been detailed to sweep up the surrendered
Soviet
s.
Timmins
was
tasked with getting the men loaded on to the halftracks when they arrived.

Liaising with his unit commanders by radio, Crisp satisfied himself that all was going well elsewhere, so dedicated his efforts to Easy and the remnants of the rearguard.

Tanks and vehicles from ‘Petersen’ moved up, ready to get involved if any counter-attack should materialise.

The E8 remained at distance, the crew knowing only too well that they had fired on their own, albeit accidentally.

Meeting up with
Timmins
, Crisp noticed that the man was soaked through.

“Dumped myself in the stream
,
B
oss. Didn’t wanna mess up the infantry’s vehicles.”

Crisp sniffed the air and discovered that the stream had not removed the whole legacy of the fall onto the cow.

“Well
,
JJ,
I gotta say,
you are a sorry l
ooking, sorry smelling
sonofabitch
.”

And that was true. Grubby head bandage, faintly resembling a Japanese head scarf
,
complete with rising sun marking, this particular circle of red being the product of his head wound.

A medic
had bandaged his side, the whiteness
of the dressing noticeable through his rent jacket.

An additional wound, a split thumb web, drip
ped blood
steadily onto the ground.

“Jeez
,
but you must want the Heart so badly
,
JJ.”

Marion Crisp referred to the Purple Heart, an award mainly given for combat wounds.

“If you promise me not to stick your head up again
today, I will write you up for it this very evening.”

“I already got one
,
Boss,” the young officer grinning from ear to ear, pausing in his discussion to
show
four fingers
at ‘Rocky’ Baldwin, a cue for the senior non-com to move another unit off to safety.

A
diminutive
figure approached, clad in the uniform of
a
US
Infantry Major.

“What the fuck?” The words had barely left
Timmins
’ mouth than the short, stocky officer was on top of them.

Too experienced to salute, the new arrival contented himself with a small bow at each man before introducing himself.

“Takao, 100th Infantry Battalion.”

Major Chikara Takeo was a challenging sight,
businesslike
and professional to the eye, every inch a combat soldier. But as always, when he was
encountered
for the first time, it was the sword that took the eye, even though only the handle could be seen
,
as it was
presently
slung across his back.

Obviously
,
the two officers were staring.

“Don’t
worry,
I save it for the enemy.”

Takeo was a member of the elite Combat Team 442, of which the ‘One-puka-puka’
,
100th [Nisei] Infantry Battalion
,
was an important part.

Comprised mainly of Japanese-A
mericans, most of whom had been interned after
Pearl Harbor
, CT442 had earned a reputation for steadfastness and bravery in combat, a reputation second to none in the US Army.

‘One-puka-puka’ came from its Hawaiian birth
, formed
from various territorial and national
guardsmen
.

Perhaps more surprisingly,
CT44
2
was the most highly decorated Regiment in the history of the US Armed Forces.

“Crisp, 101st,” and indicating his still unsavoury companion, “Acting Captain Timmins.”

Hands were shaken and Crisp deliberately ignored the surprised look on his
companion’s
face, the field promotion dropped into conversation without warning.

Artillery was creeping closer now
,
and a direct hit threw a fireball into the darkening sky as a halftrack was struck.

“We need to get everybody outta here pronto
,
Major. My boys will hold the line while you fall back. 702nd will remain here with me until I move out.”

As if to reinforce his words, groups of Japanese-
A
merican infantry moved forward, setting up defensively here and there, creating a barrier between the
Soviet
lines and the exhausted airborne troopers.

Anticipating Crisp’s protest
,
Takeo gripped the younger man’s arm.

“You have done enough
,
Major. See to your men and get them out. Then, I can get mine out too. OK?”