A Glibertarians Exclusive:  North Country, Part IV

Near Bergen op Zoom, November 1944

“So, I guess it took two weeks!”

Ted Paige grinned as he climbed down from the deuce-and-a-half.  Albert walked up, hand extended.  Ted winced a little as he shook his friend’s hand.  His shoulder still hurt, but the fragment has just pierced the deltoid muscle, doing little real damage.

“Sort of,” Ted said.  “Technically I’m still supposed to be at the field hospital.  But a guy from A Squadron came in that got hit in the leg yesterday, said you were moving out, and I thought, hell, I don’t want to get stuck in some other unit as a replacement.  They’d already given me a clean uniform, so I snuck out last night, caught a ride up here, and here I am.”

The Sherman sat under a threadbare tree; the engine cover was open.  The rest of the crew gathered around, grinning, and slapping Ted on the back.  Sergeant Hampton shook Ted’s hand formally, but he was smiling.  “Glad to have you back, Corporal.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“Don’t take it too personally.  It’s just that I’m a complete cock-up as a gunner.  Now I can go back to the commander’s seat.”  He slapped Ted on the back and walked back over to the tank.  “Come on,” he called over his shoulder.  “Still have the carburetor to clean.  Get back to work!”

“Looks like the worst of this mess is wrapped up,” Albert informed Ted later, after their maintenance routine was done.  The two men were seated on the ground next to the tank, leaning against the road wheels, eating some barely edible concoction the Yanks called a ‘K-ration.’  “The Scots took Middelburg a few days ago.  They made a landing in the Kraut’s rear, took ‘em right in the ass.  After that, it’s been cleanup, mostly.  We went through Bergen op Zoom yesterday.  Been pushing north and east some since.  Looks like the Royal Navy will be getting Antwerp harbor open, then we’ll have an easier time getting resupplied.”

“Well, I should say,” Ted replied.

Sergeant Hampton walked up.  “Gather ‘round,” he called.  The tank crew assembled at the front of the vehicle.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” the sergeant announced, “that we’re being pulled back into reserve.  Corporal, it looks like you made it back at the perfect moment.  We’ll be moving back down the road through Bergen op Zoom and then into an assembly area somewhere to the south.  B Squadron will be ahead of us on the march, and we’ll be leading C Squadron.  We’ll be moving out in an hour.  There are still German stragglers in the area, so everyone keeps a sharp eye out.”  Hampton checked his watch.  “Fifty-eight minutes,” he corrected.  “Let’s get our shit together.”

Two hours later, the column passed through Bergen op Zoom.  Ted kept scanning the buildings, many of which were still smoking.  The few Dutch civilians out and about looked at the Canadians with some suspicion.  Well, we did just shoot up their town, Ted reminded himself.  He breathed easier when they moved back into more open country.

“Hope my gal remembers me when I get home,” Albert called suddenly.  “Looks like it won’t be too long now.”

“Not by Christmas, though,” George Lesk added.  “Fucking Montgomery.”  Like most common soldiers, Lesk considered himself a master strategist.  “We should have taken Antwerp first, then moved up into Germany.”

Ted ignored Lesk’s commentary on Montgomery’s soldiering acumen.  “Been thinking of her more lately, then?”

“Yeah.  Day and night.  Beginning to look like we might win this thing and go home.  This mess here we just got through, that has to be the worst of it, yeah?  We lost a hell a lot of men and equipment.  So did the Krauts.  But we can get more.  Can they?”

“Hope to God you’re right,” Ted replied.

***

Three hundred yards off the road, covered with branches and camouflage netting, crouched a crippled Mk IV Panzer.  One track was off, but the engine idled to supply the vehicle with power.  The front of the tank was scorched and pockmarked.  Two of the crew were left alive, the commander of the tank – and the gunner.  They sat inside the tank now, watching the Allied column moving past.  The commander had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head, covering one eye.  The gunner was clumsily operating the weapon with one hand, his left arm in a sling.

“More tanks,” the gunner said.

“Take the first one in the column.  If we live long enough, hit the next one back as it tries to pass the first one.  Maybe we can block the road.”

“Jawohl.”  Slowly, the gunner moved the turret, trying not to draw attention until he was ready to fire.

***

As was his habit, Staff Sergeant McDonald was head-up, standing in the turret, scanning the countryside with binoculars as the tank moved.  He focused on an oddly familiar shape, a seemingly inert German tank squatted at the edge of a small woodlot, one track knocked off.

…But the gun was moving…

Suddenly he let out a surprised shout.  “Fuck!  Mark Four, three o’clock, three hundred yards!  Gunner!”

Ted had been looking in the other direction.  He turned the turret frantically, shouting, “LOAD ARMOR -PIERCING!”

Alex McDonald slammed a black-tipped round into the gun and slammed the breech.  “READY!”

Ted laid the sight on the German tank and stomped on the firing button just as the German machine’s gun spewed flame and smoke.

CLANGGGG!

The 75mm German armor-piercing round slammed through the Sherman’s engine compartment, tearing through the thin side armor as though it were cardboard.  The tank staggered to a halt, the front end sliding into the narrow roadside ditch.

“GET OUT!  GET OUT!”  Sergeant Hampton was shouting.  Ted threw open his hatch, grabbed the rim to haul himself out of the tank…

CLANGGGG!

Another round slammed into the tank, this one hitting towards the back of the turret.  Ted shot out of the hatch.  He saw Sergeant Hampton leap off the machine into the ditch, his trouser legs ablaze.  Ted followed suit, leaping into the cold, muddy water.  He pressed himself into the mud.  The German tank was firing a machine gun now, probing for the fugitive tank crew.  The tracers shot by overhead; Ted pressed his face into the mud.

There was a sudden explosion, then another.  Two other Shermans in the column had turned to face the Panzer and obliterated it with several armor-piercing rounds.

Ted rolled onto his back.  Sergeant Hampton lay a few feet away, groaning.  The muddy water of the ditch had put out the fire on his trouser legs.  “MEDIC!” Ted shouted.  “MEDIC!”

He looked up at the tank.  The ammo was cooking off.  With a sudden roar, an explosion blasted the turret thirty feet into the air.  The turret landed in the ditch on the other side of the road, upside-down, smoking.  Nobody else had gotten out of the tank.

Ted stood up and instinctively did his soldier’s personal inventory: “Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch,” they had hammered home in training.  Ted wore no spectacles, but he had his wallet, his holstered revolver, and a pocket compass.  Other than that, he had nothing but the uniform he stood in, and, in his tunic’s breast pocket, a letter addressed to a girl in northern Alberta.

Two days later he found Staff Sergeant Hampton in a field hospital.

“I’ll be all right,” the NCO informed him.  “Second degree burns, mostly.  Hurts like hell, but they won’t kill me.  They tell me this whole business will probably be over before I’m fit for duty again.”  The old soldier lit a Player.  He offered Ted the pack; Ted took one and lit it.  “How about you?”

“Not a scratch, Sarge,” Ted told him.  “Doesn’t hardly seem fair, does it?  Didn’t even sprain my ankle jumping off the tank.  Company commander says we have at least three crews needing a tank commander once we get some replacement tanks, so I guess I’ll be moving to another crew.  Maybe they’ll bump me up to Sergeant.  Anyway, I’ll be staying with the Regiment.  Rumor is we’ll be moving into Germany.  Once more into the breach.”

“Once more,” Sergeant Hampton agreed.  “Well, you take care of yourself, Paige.  You’re a hell of a good gunner.  I expect you’ll make a good tank commander.”  He extended his hand.  “Keep your head down.  See you in Hell.”

Ted shook the Sergeant’s hand.  “See you in Hell, Sarge.”

Ted walked outside.  It was snowing.  He took the letter out of his pocket, looked at the envelope.  For probably the hundredth time since their tank was hit, he read his best friend’s handwriting:

PENELOPE TESTAWICH

“I’m sure she remembers you, buddy.  I’m sure she always will.  And I’ll keep my promise.”

He wiped away a tear and walked off into the snow.

***

I’m a-wonderin’ if she remembers me at all

Many times I’ve often prayed

In the darkness of my night

In the brightness of my day