An Intertwining of Fates (Seacoal)

[rspeirs]

“Operation Market, eh?” Speirs remarked inquisitive to a Staff Sergeant sitting parallel to him at the military briefing. “What men will I have with me in my squadron?” Speirs said, still unsure what to make of the offensive into Holland. “Four privates, all infantry men.” The Staff Sergeant said in a bold, military like manner. “That’s it?” Speirs said shocked. “No sir,” The Staff Sergeant said, eyeing the other upper echelon officers in the room in a nervous manner. A Colonel stepped forward, taking the place of the nervous Staff Sergeant. “Your squadron will consist of 6 privates, two of which are an MG team. You will also have one Corporal with you. He is a green recruit; not battle tested. Actually, the MG team isn’t battle tested either, but Heffron and Julian, they are good soldiers. Seen em’ train myself.”The Colonel put a cigar in his mouth, waiting for Speirs to reply. Speirs remained silent, thinking about the entire situation. He wasn’t sure what kind of opposition he was going against, and the tested 1st Sergeant wasn’t exactly willing to be thrown against a well oiled SS squadron. He knew his men would be in for one hell of a fight, and Ron was overcome by trepidation as to how his men would perform. “That’s not nearly enough men. I am going to need at least a handful more.” Speirs said, rubbing his chin in dismay. “Our men our overextended as it is.” The Colonel said, rebuking Speirs for his statement. “Understood sir, but I doubt my squad will be effective in such circumstances. I need more men.” The Colonel straightened his posture and took the cigar from his mouth. He rubbed his mustache, thinking on what to say. “1st Sergeant, you held a town with only 5 men correct?” Speirs nodded in affirmation. “Then you can fight with Seven.” Speirs nodded. He was reluctant to accept the terms, but because he was a soldier, he accepted the terms of the higher ranked officer. He saluted the Colonel, disappointed in his answer, and after given the order “Dismissed” he walked out of the briefing as quickly as possible.

Speirs’ demeanor seemed to change outside the briefing room as he walked down the hallway. He was disappointed in the order of the Colonel, yet he felt a morsel of excitement at the fact that he was entering battle once more. A born soldier, Ron knew that he would valiantly serve his country once more. That was, after all, the only reason Speirs fights-For his land and the welfare of his family.

He walked down the hallway as the flurry of emotions danced freely through his mind. As he walked out the doorway to the outside of the HQ, another soldier, a corporal seemed to rush in recklessly, knocking into Speirs, making his body contort to the left to avoid him. Speirs turned to the Corporal, who at this point, realizes that he had ran into a superior, and reprimanded him slightly, giving him a strict “What are you in such a rush for corporal? Watch where you are going next time, will you?

[Cpl. Seth Seacoal]

"So Seth, Holland I here?" Pfc. Johnson asked, pushing his arms through the sleeves of his US Army uniform. "Yeah, under some 1st Sergeant. Speirs I think his name is." Corporal Seth Sea coal replied, dog tags jingling as he rapidly rubbed shaving cream onto his stubble-covered face, it's foamy texture feeling relaxing against Seth's chin and cheeks. "First skirmish, eh?" Johnson asked, and the Corporal nodded in reply. Seth swiftly moved a razor against his face, scraping away his facial hair and shaving cream.

Johnson left the restroom, a fresh breeze blowing in through the open door. Seth finished up shaving, washing scraps of shaving cream and hair from his face with cold water from the old sink. He fetched his tunic from hanging on a stall and slipped it on. As he started to button the OD shirt up, he noticed a disturbing red dot sitting upon his forehead. His mouth dipped into a frown as he approached the mirror, seeing the fat zit upon his face. Using his two index fingers, he squeezed it as hard as he could. The small piece of acne finally popped, and Seth felt much more satisfied about his appearance. Buttoning up his tunic the rest of the way, he took a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips, lighting it with a small silver lighter, a gift from his grandparents before he enlisted. Seth combed his blond hair into a neat part, tiny comb-tracks running through the golden tufts. He slid his American helmet onto his head, it's liner a bit too big for Seth's head. The Corporal quickly relieved himself in one of the urinals, flicked the butt of his cigarette away, and made his way out of the bathroom.

A crow flew across the cloudy sky, calling out in it's cackling voice. Seth looked up at it, and saw two Spitfires snake across the sky, performing training runs across the French skies. Seth hurried across the Allied Base, moving toward the Intel Room silhouetted on the horizon. Corporal Seacoal rolled up his sleeve to check the watch strapped to his wrist. Shit. He was late. He broke into a quick jog, bumping into several Privates on the way there. He threw open the door and rushed down the hallways, and opened the door to Briefing Room 7. As soon as he threw open the door, he smacked right into someone. The Corporal stumbled, his helmet falling down in front of his eyes. As he regained focus, he saw the rank chevrons of 1st Sergeant on sleeve, much to Seth's dismay. God dammit, I'm late and I run into a Superior. Fantastic move... Seth thought, quickly adjusting his helmet and breaking into a salute.

"Uhm, s-s-s-orry sir, I uhm, w-w-as on my way to the briefing, and...I think I should shut up now, sir. Corporal Seacoal here."

[rspeirs]

“Seacoal…” Speirs muttered to himself amused. This was the Corporal who would be in his squadron. First impressions meant a lot to the 1st Sergeant, and Seacoal’s impression was less than stellar. He had failed to reach the briefing on time, looked flustered because of it, and he recklessly ran into a superior. Speirs inspected his outfit carefully. At least he got that right. Ron said to himself. Speirs then moved his hand against the corporal’s chin, checking to see if the soldier at least had the dignity to shave. Indeed, the soldier was clean shaven, which pleased the hypercritical Speirs. “Well Seacoal” Speirs smiled, trying to lighten the tense mood which surrounded the two soldiers, saying “I’m 1st Sergeant Ronald C. Speirs of F Company, 3 Battalion, 3rd Infantry Division. You will be serving under my command in Operation Market. Our mission, to capture a Causeway outside of Eindhoven, Holland, thus cutting off a vital road for the Krauts. That’s basically what the briefing was over, then again, you really wouldn’t know, you were late. That’s a mistake green recruits make; don’t do it again, or I will personally assign you to a new division.” Speirs was harsh yet vehement with the last words he spoke. It wasn’t a serious infraction, but the 3ID definitely was not for green soldiers. Speirs new this, and he relayed the message clearly to Seacoal.

A Horsefly aimlessly flew above the men as Speir’s lectured Seacoal. It looked for an adequate victim to sink its teeth into. The fly was voracious at this point, longing, craving for food to sustain itself. Due to the nature of the conversation, Speirs’ neck was tensed, thus making his ceratoid artery bulge outward. It was not protruding at this point, yet it was a susceptible target and the Horsefly dove in for his meal. Speirs ascertained a black speck flying off in the distance. He knew it was some variety of bug. As it dove in for a bite, Speirs caught it in the palm of his hand. Still, the fly was persistent, and it crawled up Speir’s index finger onto its fleshy knob. It bit down, causing Speirs some pain. The 1st Sergeant though, ended the fly’s mediocre existence.

Of towards the east, clouds began to gather. These clouds were dark, ominous, morose looking and Speirs knew that they would bring a steady autumn rain, which would strip the remainder of leaves from the European Birch trees, which were endemic to France. “Corporal, see those clouds? They will be right over us here shortly. Let’s move under the awning of this building.” Speirs walked outside the briefing room and quickly moved to the steel awning, which was at the façade of the briefing room. The winds began to whip fiercely, sending vividly colored leaves from the mighty, imposing birch trees, which stood in the distance, into the air. The winds spontaneously picked up and died in intensity, howling as they did so. So fierce were these winds, that the awing made a cackling noise. The two spitfires that were doing maneuvers in the air were now forced to ground themselves and they flew toward the runway of the 3ID’s HQ. In the distance, lighting danced across the restless sky, which was strewn with dark, ominous cumulonimbus cloud. Quickly, thunder accompanied it, and soon, the heavens opened, pouring out a cool rain, which dampened the ground instantaneously. Seacoal, like the clouds, seemed a little restless because of the storm. “This is nothing,” boasted Speirs. “You should see the storms on the East Coast back home. Damn, I’m telling you, those were some wicked storms.” Speirs laughed as the rain began to zero in on the two men beneath the awning, the wind assisting the cool rain drops in pelting the men. “If you can’t take this,” Speirs said, still laughing, “how are you going to take 88 fire?”