Liaising (Patterson)

[William Reid]

Reid exhaled slowly as he lay flat on the berm, looking down over the edge and observing the small town. One of battalion’s snipers lay next to him, observing through a magnified scope, and Reid knew that the second one was several hundred yards ahead, reconnoitring the town ahead. Slightly lower down the berm and behind, Reid’s batsman and platoon radio operator sat with the handset of his radio cradled by his head. In the clearing behind them, the rest of the platoon sat. The 2-inch mortar was set up, with the three man crew sat around ready to fire if a target was called. Three rifle sections, each of ten men had taken cover, guided into position by the ever present Sergeant Toye. There was dead silence as thirty-eight men of the Seventh Armoured Division waited for the thirty-ninth to return.

With the Sun coming from the West, Reid’s right, he cupped a hand around his binoculars to prevent any reflecting light and observed the town. It was a rather typical French town, like many others they had passed through so far. Built around a church, with a central square surrounded by eighteenth and nineteenth century houses, it had an almost idyllic French town atmosphere. One which the Germans had been intent on ruining, by sprawling barbed wire, machine-gun nests, tank traps, mortars and anti-tank guns throughout it. There was a reason you couldn’t give Jerry nice things…

Reid had been ordered to liaise with an American rifle company from the Third Infantry Division; he was expecting a Major Patterson. Together, they were to complete a joint assault on Châlons-sur-Marne. The superior firepower the Americans had over the British would be welcome for this assault, but Reid knew that the Union Jack his platoon was carrying would need to fly above the town hall before the Stars And Stripes could.

He lowered his binoculars and twisted, looking down at his platoon. He adjusted his weight as the Sten gun issued to him by the British army – a rather un-gentlemanly weapon – dug in to his side. It was much more fitting for an officer to fight with the Webley revolver sat on his right hip. The ceremonial baton which the officers of the First World War was left back at HQ, it was slightly less practical in combat than it was for leading trench warfare. The platoon had its fair share of weapons. Whilst the No. 4 .303 rifle was issued to most men, there was a second Sten with Sergeant Toye, and a Bren light machine-gun sat in well trained hands of the second in command of each section. The radio operator and the runner each had Webley revolvers, and the two attached snipers had scoped variants of the No. 4.

The meagre cover of the squad was a low stone wall surrounding what Reid suspected had once been a farmhouse, but a Royal Artillery Corps bombardment had ensured that no Germans dare use it as a machine gun emplacement. The unstable pile of wood and rubble offered no safe haven to anybody. Reid looked past the men to a field surrounded by hedges on all four sides. He could see the Americans approaching; spread out in case any bombardment came their way. There was a section of armoured cars driving along the road flanking them, the barrels of the vehicles angled to cover various positions in which Germans may have been waiting. Unfortunately, no heavy armour had been provided for this mission, but the T17 armoured cars would suffice with their 37mm cannons.

[MAJ Patterson]

It was a right fine day in France, the air was clean, that or the smell of gunpowder had become common place, the wildlife was quiet as always, the trees were still a bit green, the temperature was a nice 64 degrees in the evening, then a thud caught the Major's attention from a few feet away. He looked over to see His right hand man, Sergeant Giles helping Private Thomas Crow back to his feet. "Not used to the hedgerows yet Crow?" Henry called out to the man. Thomas pulled himself back to his feet and smiled. The majority of them had been in this type of terrain for a while now, some hadn't. "Giles, a moment." Patterson followed up with as he pulled out his map and only halfway opened to show their location. The Sergeant was by his commander's side within a few steps. "We've been ordered to link up with elements of the 7th Armored...with a 'u'..." That was their way of letting each other know that they were talking about the British forces. Most of the men had derogatory terms for the Brits, which was slightly understandable, but the fact of the matter was that the British forces had been in the war far longer, and had far more experience than most of the American boys, so the Major just left it at ...with a 'u'. "...in about twenty minutes. First though we are supposed to have light armored vehicles to assist in assaulting this town. They should have been at these coordinates thirty minutes ago. Where the hell are they?!" Patterson's voice rose slightly.

After scanning the area ahead of them, Henry folded his map back up and tucked it away in his jacket. "Tell the men to take a breather for five minutes, after that we are gonna cover the last couple hundred meters here and link up with the 7th Armored, with or with out the armor. Understood?" With a quick nod Giles confirmed what he was told and started passing the word to hold up. "Crow, thanks for volunteering. Move down this hedge a bit til you get to that small incline over there, see it? See if you can put eyes on the steeple." Patterson pointed off to his east.

Steeple sir?"[/i] The Private replied confused.

"Yes, every French town has one. Once you see it move toward it until you link up with the 7th Armored, they are waiting for us. They probably already know we are here, and surely will when the vehicles arrive, but for the sake of my own hide, I'd like to make sure they aren't jumpy. Who knows, maybe they have had a long day. Now move out!" The Major motioned his hand toward the Private as if to shoo him away. Henry watched as Crow made his way toward the small hill and could see him standing on his tip toes and searching frantically for the steeple. Patterson knew he found it because he got low once more and set off at a fast walk toward the direction they were supposed to link up with the British troops.

At about the same moment Crow went out of sight, the distant rumble of mechanized vehicles became audible. "Bout damn time!" Henry said under his breath as the leaned toward his Sergeant. "Flag them down, I want them covering our flank, we'll move in together." Giles didn't even respond, he just started for the dirt road.

After what the Major thought was plenty of time he could still here faint conversation through the sound of the engines. He decided he would make his way to the road himself, he gave his men the signal to stay put as he made his way through the line.

"...I understand Sergeant, but my orders are very clear, we cannot slow down for any reason when we are this close to enemy lines unless we are being directly engaged."[/i] Was all Patterson could hear from what sounded like a kid barely old enough to wipe his own nose.

"What's the problem Giles?" Patterson asked as he exited the wood-line.

Giles turned slowly toward his commander and responded with "Sir, this Lieutenant here doesn't want to keep pace with our men as we make our way toward the staging area for fear that we might be engaged before we are set up."[/i] Giles would have winced having to give the information to the Major had it been a year or so back in time, but now he knew to just sit back and enjoy the show.

Henry cleared his throat and leaned over to see the entire column. "Major Patterson, 3rd Infantry Division, 3rd Armored Brigade. You have five vehicles here Lieutenant, I was only told there were to be four vehicles linking up with us." He could see the faces of a few of the members of the other vehicles leaning out to see what the hold up was, they all had the same looks 'not again' that was more than enough for the Major. "Lieutenant pull your vehicle to the side of the road for me while we sort this out." As the vehicle lurched forward and off toward what little clear ground there was Patterson turned back to Giles. "Get the men ready to move Sergeant." And once more Dean was off to handle his task.

Patterson walked over to the vehicle that had been pulled over, it seemed like the rest of the drivers were going to follow suit, but Henry held his hand out firmly for them to hold formation. He made his way to the hood of the vehicle and flipped open the hood. "There is your problem right there Lieutenant, your radiator is getting low on fluid."

The Lieutenant stepped out onto the road and walked toward the front of the vehicle. "I chose to bring a fifth vehicle along for mission security Major. What are you talking about, you can't check a radiator while the vehicle is running. Driver, shut this vehicle down!." the peppy little officer ordered.

"I got it!" Patterson shouted as he pulled his knife from his belt and twisted it around in his hand. The Lieutenant turned around just in time to witness the Major shoving the blade into the radiator and liquid spew forth from the puncture. "Now Lieutenant, you remember that unit, 3rd Infantry Division, 3rd Armored Brigade, you give any of my men a hard time ever again, and it will be your grill that gets messed up, you understand me? Now you stay with this vehicle, there will be a tow along before midnight." The Lieutenant was dumb-founded at what was going on. The Major just stepped around him and toward the doors. "The rest of you grab your gear and fall in!" He pointed out to the field where his men were already starting to move forward. The vehicle crew grabbed their weapons and gear and exited the vehicle. Patterson motioned for the remaining vehicles to move forward and he gave them the directions that their 'commander' could not understand. There were no further issues, but definitely a few smiles.

* * *

As they had come into full view of the British soldiers Patterson told his men to hold position, he and Giles made their way to the back of the British lines. "Major Patterson, 3rd of the 3rd, requesting to speak with your commander." He said to the soldier in front of him. The man looked around slightly before moving toward the south to, hopefully, retrieve his commander.

[SGT. Niklas Risto]

Bloodied, dishevelled, tired and hungry: Third Armoured Brigade - Baker Company, Second Platoon limped warily back from a successful, yet costly mission they had first embarked upon twenty-four hours previously and had been slogging a slow paced march on foot with an additional twelve hours on top, with little sight of a relief being given. Their canteens had ran dry hours ago and rations were slim to start with, being ordered to pack light for the mission and objective. Most of their spare ammunition had been ditched to save grace for the long walk home and the wounded were carried in shifts by each healthy man with a twenty-minute rotation amongst the ranks. It wasn’t the best of situations, far from it, but they had achieved their goals incurring lesser casualties than predicted and completely annihilated all German forces during the objective, another unforeseen bonus for a tactical sabotage mission on an oil dump fielded as a halfway-point for German vehicles to replenish their fuel resources.

Passing a half smoked cigarette to Corporal Kye Toivo with a dirtied and dry-blood stained hand, Sergeant Risto exhaled the last inhale of the cigarette he’d taken and allowed his fellow friend and padre to have half the smoke. Their manpower for the mission had started out with thirty-one men, including four sets of heavy fire-teams, four men per fire-team, equipped with the M1919 Browning 30.Cal machine guns and Browning Automatic Rifles, a squad of six engineers to strategically place explosive satchel charges, one radio operator and eight infantryman equipped with a differentiation of M1 Garands, Thompson SMGs and Sergeant Risto’s Johnson’s Light Machine-Gun between them. Out of the thirty-one men sent on the mission, thirteen of them remained in tact and five others were considered wounded, whom they helped to carry back home. Twelve didn’t make the cut and had to be left behind, unfortunate casualties of a successful mission, which none of them felt the need to be celebrating or to boast about anytime soon.

Stopping ahead of the slow marching column, Sergeant Risto took the moment to look at his map and gather his bearings. Several hours earlier and four hours into their slow march home, he’d received a direct order from Major Patterson of the Third Armoured Brigade to rendezvous at a specific checkpoint, having been given the coordinates and estimated time to arrive, or don‘t arrive at all. By Sergeant Risto’s watch, he was still on course and on-time to reach the checkpoint in a fashionable manner. If you could call a limping and wounded bunch of men such a thing? Looking to Corporal Kye Toivo, he spoke to his fellow friend calmly. “Toivo, pass on a message to Sergeant Harvard. I think he’s carrying one of the wounded towards the back. We must press on harder without a break for the next hour if we’re to reach Patterson’s checkpoint on time, I need him to bring up the rear and keep them going” he said with reluctance, knowing the men had hardly rested as it were, but they were made of stronger stuff and could handle one more hour of gruelling testimony.

The Corporal puffed on the half burnt out cigarette and moved down the line to find Sergeant Harvard to pass the message on. Niklas yawned uncontrollably and folded his map up, replacing it back into the sleeve of his breast pocket. Adjusting the weight of his Johnson LMG to a more refined position, he pushed on and lead the column forwards, his tired eyes bleakly open and his blood smeared face making him look as though he were an apache warrior decorated for the art of war. Everyone trudged onwards and pushed themselves against the inner-wall inside themselves to find a deeper strength. One of the men solemnly hummed a tune under his breath, yet it raised a few spirits on par with finding the strength to not give up. They had come this far, they wasn’t about to stop now.

Time passed quickly with a definite end in sight and Sergeant Risto brought the wounded column to an immediate halt. Looking over his map once more briefly, he pinpointed the exact location of the checkpoint with a shard of grass against the map and briefed Corporal Toivo, Corporal Ensio and Sergeant Harvard on the plan of action. “I’m going to take a healthy team of eight up to the checkpoint and scout the way forward. We’re still in enemy territory remember. I want you Sergeant (Harvard) to stay here with the wounded and a five man security detail. We’ll return for you once we’ve linked up with Patterson’s lot - alright?” Sergeant Risto outlined the basic plan of action, nobody had any questions and Niklas didn’t expect any from his tired crew.

Rounding up an eight man team, with both Corporal Toivo and Corporal Ensio onboard, they moved quickly towards the allocated checkpoint and cautiously moved through the terrain with a keen eye to detail. Sergeant Risto caught the noise of vehicles on the wind and followed the murmuring pattern. Voices soon dwindled in the distance and it didn’t take long until Sergeant Risto and his team identified the noisy crowd as Allied soldiers; a lot of them at that. Before breaking cover, Sergeant Risto shouldered his Johnson LMG and gave the subtle order to his men to un-equip their weapons or at least not point them anywhere other than downwards. His men were tired and he wanted to avoid any tragic mistakes occurring from a spooked ally, more so, his own boys retaliating or causing an accidental mockery.

Cupping both his hands over his mouth, Sergeant Risto hollered “Friendlies! Coming out!” raising his hands in the process, Sergeant Risto crept from out of cover and casually walked towards the gathering of American soldiers, noticeably British soldiers too. “I’m Sergeant Risto: Third Armoured Brigade, Baker Company, Second Platoon - so are my men” he sternly announced as he approached the cautious crowd, the eight soldiers with Sergeant Risto slowly emerging from behind cover themselves, all of them looking as though they had just spent three weeks living in the wild and not very well given that. Their uniforms were almost nonexistent anymore, with dirt splattered across most of the coloured fabric and with buttons missing on a majority of their fatigues too. Most of the men wore their uniforms loosely, showing a dirty vest (or nothing worn) beneath. Although Sergeant Risto’s blonde hair was concealed beneath a helmet, the frayed dried ends protruding from under it were almost black and grey, as though they had been singed or burnt.

The Sergeant wasn’t sure who was in charge, nor did he really know who he was talking too as he approached, but waited for some kind of recognition or acknowledgement from a superior or senior member amongst the group. He assumed Major Patterson was present somewhere, but requesting to meet the Major didn’t seem top priority during the given instance, as Sergeant Risto embraced the moment to mention the rest of his wounded party. “There’s more of us quarter-of-a-mile downhill, we had to leave the wounded stationary” he announced, although his mouth dried up just as soon as he started speaking and struggled to wet the inside of his mouth with saliva, causing him to cough from the dry irritation in the throat. They were all completely knackered, needing a drink, shower and some hot chow, but the Sergeant had a dubious feeling he wasn’t about to get that anytime soon.