Can You Hear Me Now?

[Mac Bargett]

Country: France
Area/Setting: Among the hedgerows of the frontlines.
Current Time: 14:42
Weather Conditions: A clear autumn day.

”You wanted to see me, Technical Sergeant?” Mac Bargett asked TSgt. Stamford as he sat down in front of his immediate superior’s desk, which was no more then an olive drab typewriter stand sitting between two wooden folding chairs. Placed upon the “desk” was a small pile of maps and a leather bound EE-8 field telephone connected to wires that led under and out of the small tent.

“Bargett, you have combat experience along with your Signal Corps training? Correct?”

”Of course.” the subordinate replied, smiling, “My warm personality wasn’t the only reason I was promoted to Staff Sergeant.”

“Hmm,” Stamford murmured as he thought for a moment, “Good. I’ve been trying to ring up Able Company for a few hours now,” he motioned towards the phone, “but I have been getting nothing. They just took Cambrai from the Germans.” Stamford paused to find the pen scratch that marked the town location on one of his maps. Which he then handed to Mac, “From what I was told it was some heavy tank fighting, a lot of the town was destroyed. Last I heard we had secured it, although there has been a few German artillery strikes and scouting missions in that area. Maybe they were preparing for a counterattack, maybe they recaptured it, maybe not. I don’t know. But nevertheless, I brought this up with some Charlie company officers. They want to send a squad in to see what happened, and if it is just a bad connection, I want you there to fix it. You’ll be the lead NCO.” Stamford leaned back and the flimsy chair creaked under his repositioned weight, “Of course you don’t have to, I won’t order you to, I’m not that kind of leader. So if you don’t want this assignment, I got Pvt. James scrounging for the supplies as we speak. He’ll do the job well enough, and we’ll find a Charlie company Sergeant to lead it. But there’s a lot of wire to look over, and I’d prefer a Signal Corps NCO to take charge.”

“Did you say Pvt. Kage James?” Mac asked, and the Tech Sergeant nodded. ”Well, I guess I’ll better do it then, if that Cajun Casanova meets any of the local farmers’ daughters, he may just give his field phone away to her.” Mac stuck the Cambrai map into his shirt pocket, arose from his chair and headed for the tent flap, “So, where can I find the squad, sergeant?”

“Oh, they should be all in Barracks A, awaiting James and yourself. And hey, don‘t forget to use that map, I don‘t want you getting lost and wandering into the German lines.”

Already half out of the tent, Mac stopped and turned around, “And what if the German lines wander into us?”

“Run as fast as you can back here and tell us, we’ll get a welcoming party out for them, and if you can't,“ Stamford shrugged, then gestured towards his telephone, “just give me a ring. Well, do that anyway once you fix the wire. I‘ll be here, sitting by the phone, like a bobby soxer waiting to be invited to the prom.”

They both gave a chuckle, and Mac finally left the tent, only to enter another, larger one only a few yards away. This one held two rows of cots, among which were a squad of soldiers preparing their kits and rifles.

“Hello there, are you guys the squad for the mission to communicate with Cambrai?” Mac asked the collective 8 faces before him, ”I’m Staff Sergeant Bargett, and I’m supposed to take you there. Are you all ready? And are we just waiting for my tools to fix the telephone line?

“No more, you’re not.” Mac turned and his eyes followed the flow of the strong Louisiana accent to the tent’s entrance, where Private Kage James stood, holding two full kits of supplies.

“So are we ready then? Mac asked the squad again as James started handing him the supplies, including another Field telephone, a bundle of wire, assorted tools, and an M1A1 Thompson sub-machine gun.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Marching into a particularly large tent with haste, Technician (Fourth Grade) Sergeant Brannigan heftily dropped his large canvas green army duffle bag onto the patchwork floor of spotted grass, with unfolded cardboard littered across the ground for some sort of carpet or clean foot placement. Although large, the tent’s interior wasn’t grand and the cots seemed to be the only furniture furnishing the interior, double rowed. Hardly comforting, but when was the military so accommodating for their leisure? Peter’s breath exhaled hardily as he dropped the rest of his cumbersome heavy gear around the duffle bag and removed his unclipped M1 helmet from his head with ease, giving his brow a mop with the sleeve of his arm. The distinguished red-cross armband attached to his bicep pivoting into view as he wiped the sweat away casually, as if the red-cross emblem on the front of his helmet wasn’t enough distinguishing to his field expertise.

Six, maybe seven other men littered the interior of the tent and Peter’s presence aroused a few looks. “Sergeant…” one of the men acknowledged Peter, sitting up from his cot and smirking. Another merely nodding, between putting on his webbing and adjusting his belt, but eventually someone spoke out of curiosity. “You this Sergeant Bargett we’re waiting for?” one of the men piped up, not quite knowing whether the Tech’ Sergeant was the supposed man they were awaiting for, but before Peter could answer, someone else intervened the question with a sharp answer: “No, you idiot. Since when did quacks give orders?” he spurred on, causing a couple of murmuring laughs to muster beneath the men’s breaths at the remark made.

Already, Peter felt welcomed. “For your information Private, you’ll do what I tell you” Peter answered back, his eyes warily looking over the faces of the men watching him, none of them looking the slightest bit familiar. “… And no, I’m not Staff Sergeant Bargett” he said with a notion of annoyance, mainly irritated by the late notice and sharp journey he had to make last minute to arrive at the tent for an orderly fashion. By the scheme of things, it seemed as if the Staff Sergeant hadn’t arrived yet, meaning he was early or just on time. His gear, already packed, most probably put him ahead of the numerous men still gearing up and getting ready inside of the tent, so he had time to rest and gather his bearings for the meantime.

Perching himself upon one of the cots, Peter brought up a tanned American USAAF Aviator’s bag onto his lap and undone the binding straps to fold back the flap. Within laid his numerous pieces of medical equipment and tools. He did have an ordinary haversack for his medical gear prior, but a couple of weeks before, a pilot gave him a few mementos of gratitude for helping to save his life from a freak training accident that involved the Pilot’s spitfire being shot down by friendly flak-gunners in the neighbouring town one evening. Supposedly, a new warden on the beat had raised the alarm at the sheer sound of aircrafts above; a twitchy and nervous move that involved one aircraft to be shot down and two others to be grounded with impending repairs. The state of hysteria back in England had reached it’s pinnacle point and now Peter found himself milling with the Americans once more, on the frontlines however. The bag now used for his equipment was a sound reminder that not even home was safe anymore, despite having lived in America since his younger years.

A few minutes passed and then the tent’s entrance flapped open once more, catching everyone’s attention this time as Staff Sergeant Bargett stood astern with a strong demeanour and introduced himself accordingly to the squad that had been awaiting his arrival, followed by a soldier that seemed familiar to the Sergeant. Standing from his cot, Peter felt obliged to make his presence known to the Staff Sergeant as a fellow NCO and experienced Medic for the squad; “Staff Sergeant” he initially started, hoping to grab the man’s attention from dealing with the private that was handing him gear and a Thompson SMG. “I’m Sergeant Brannigan, Third Armoured Brigade - Able Company, Third Platoon” he legitimately introduced himself, standing before the Staff Sergeant and extending his hand for a shake harmoniously.

Peter was indeed the supporting NCO for the mission and squad medic, but being an Ex-Ranger and commonly undermined for his role, he wasn’t about to be ruled out as a backbencher with no alternative role than patching holes made by the Hun. Slung over his shoulder, he quite opening carried an M1 Carbine and his dishevelled looking beard gave him a hardened and wary battle worn look.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

[[OOC: Glad to see you have decided to join Mac nad I on this one PuNk ]]

The past weeks had grown long since the Third Infantry Division had hit the beaches of Normandy and moved they’re way up to the heart of France. Not half as many of the men who hit the beaches were still alive and nearly a quarter were there in combat. None were really perfect health, some mentally dazed, scared, or even banged up by the recent combat they had saw, or been in.

A lot of shit had been going on lately and finally the division had laid rest in this little town of France. Though it wasn’t much of a town anymore, just rows and rows of Hedgerow and it made it seem endless.

One of the privates served in Charlie Company, Second platoon. Joey Toniatti, and he had seen enough combat to get him chest hair and beyond. To most of the other Privates in the Platoon, he was the senior guy. He had more Experience then most of the new Non-Commissioned officers there. Didn’t matter though, he was just a draftee pushed through camp and then smashed into France to rid of the German invaders.

Soon enough the large tent filled with soldiers began to get told of orders to escort a Mechanic and Radio op to a torn apart wire and then fix it before heading back home. Easy enough task for them seeing as most of the soldiers in the tent had seen combat on the beaches and survived long enough to be able to escort these men there.

A bit later on as Joey finished preparing his BAR, a louder voice then others broke out and began to talk to every one. ”Oh boy guys, ‘ant wait to hit those Nazi bastards.” The tent laughed a bit, new guy just brought to the platoon that had yet to see any combat.

Toniatti grunted and returned what he thought of what the young man said ”They aren’t all Nazis. Some of them are real good men being forced to do this. Fight for the Fatherland or die.” Joey shook his head and began to check the belts of ammo that now lay on his cot.

Another new guy finished his laughing and turned to Joey and said to him in a one toned manner ”How would you know this Toni?” The guy had a southern accent that made Joey’s Italian accent seem like nothing but natural.

Joey looked to the private in his eyes. Most of the guys had called him Toni as it was a short form of his last name. A Nickname he got from a Sergeant that he met in a small village back before they had hit this hedgerow hell. Joey finally spoke out with his answer ”Well, I got to have the opportunity to watch a few prisoners back in Carentan. One of them spoke Italian, nice guy.” Joey finished his words and soon enough the whole tent came a buzz. It turned out a Medic had walked in. Joey could tell by the medical bag strapped across his body. Joey just gave a shrug of his shoulders and began to check his Infantry kit. IT would be nice to have a medic there to keep the new guys from dyeing.

Once Joey had gotten his gear in place, he decided to just kick back on his cot and rest his eyes. He wasn’t asleep, nor napping but just closing his eyes and relaxing. It was nice to not have to do anything around the camp and just be able to rest.

Suddenly his rest was broken up as finally the Sergeant arrived at the door. Joey immediately arose and walked over to the man and gave a salute. He came out with words to address him, his Italian accent strong with every word. ”Private Toniatti, Sir I’ll be your Support gunner on this one.” He dropped the salute and slung his infantry pack and made sure the bipod on the end of his Browning was attached correctly.

[Mac Bargett]

“I bet you hear this a lot, but I hope we have no reason to take you along.” Bargett replied as he dropped his smg and shook Sgt. Brannigan’s hand. Although his red cross armband stood for medic, Mac could sense something in the grasp of his fellow NCO and his general attitude that hinted that he could cause wounds as easy as he could repair them. ”Although better safe than sorry, and you can never have too many NCOs, I suppose.” He grinned and he stepped from the medic to turn to the privates that made up the majority of the squad. Salutes were exchanged and they gave their names, ending with the support gunner, which Bargett found kind of humorous.

”Two radiomen, a medic, and a BAR man? Are we going out on a scouting mission, or assaulting the Siegfried line?” Mac chuckled before getting serious, ”Either way, we better get this done, but quick, without contact with Cambrai there’s a door wide open for the Germans. So let’s lock, load, and move out.” The staff sergeant picked up his Thompson and headed out the barracks door.

After leaving the relative safety of the encampment, the squad marched over the first half dozen miles with no problem as they followed the telephone line as it snaked through the dirt, rocks, and mud Most of the time it followed along beside the dirt road, although sometimes the wire would take the shortest route through a thicket of trees or the ancient hedgerows of farmland, reuniting with the path eventually.

At one point, the wire emerged from a small forest into a T shaped crossroad that had been hit with a heavy artillery barrage. Craters littered the ground and had smashed through the road and the hedgerows that bordered it. Those scars and the mangled, scorched husks of tanks were the only ghosts still haunting the crossroad from the battle of weeks past.

“There it is, the cut we’re looking for.” Mac pointed the squad’s attention to a spot of relatively unscarred ground, where the pole that would have lifted the comm. wire over the road, was instead knocked over and the line snapped. “Squad, take a defensive position around me, dig in if you have to. We may be here awhile and I don’t want any Germans sneaking up on us.”

As Mac kneed near the broken line, taking off the tools he’ll need to fix it, Pvt. James noticed another wire, this one buried on the other side of the road, uncovered and sheared by an artillery burst. Interested, Mac stood up to inspect this wire before working on the first one, and as he walked towards the crater, continued to lighten his load by tossing his Thompson down onto the ground.

BOOM!

Suddenly there was an explosion and the two radiomen dove into the crater. For a moment, fear and adrenaline pumped though their system, but quickly they realized what happened.

“Was anyone hit?” A voice shouted from behind of the ruined tanks. “No, Kage and I are fine.” Mac shouted back, “I had set off a booby tr..”

Mac’s explanation was cut short by the chop of an MG-42 suddenly strafing the empty road, blindly trying to find the source of the explosion, and the English. Then came more accurate rifle and SMG fire, hitting dangerously close to the edge of the crater. Pvt. James started attempting to fire back with his carbine, but the enemy fire was heavy. and all Mac could was dig himself into the ground and try to not get shot. Hopefully the rest of the squad could handle itself for while, until the fire lightened up and he was able to lead a flanking maneuver, and get his Thompson back.

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Their walk to the designated ‘broken line’ seemed to go smoothly; Peter kept himself idle for a majority of their travel, the chatter amongst the men sounding more like a distant radio in the adjacent room, rather than a small party of men flaunting their stories and testosterone with pictures of girlfriends and wives back home. It wasn’t particularly the nonsense talk that kept him separate from the group, but rather his position as a medic and non-commissioned-officer - he’d quietly noticed he was the second ranking man amongst the group and with the stress of knowing he’d be responsible for keeping them plugged from holes, he didn’t fancy breaking the professional barriers that would endeavour problems to his duties. Writing letters on behalf of the fallen, simply because he knew them as friends, wasn’t relished and neither was the lack of authority that came with having friends, rather than subordinates. He’d learnt from his mistakes.

Shouldering his M1 Carbine on the opposite shoulder, having started to feel it burn against his neck, he noticed the communication line/s hit a T-Junction up ahead. The ruminants of a battle still firmly within place, having scarred the land and left immobile burnt out vehicles and tanks behind within it’s wake, like an assortment of tombstones in retrospect of those dead. The feeling was eerie, something wasn’t right and Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that was weighing him down.

Staff Sergeant Bargett halted the squad up and filled them in on the plan of action, before he scooted off with his fellow radioman to go repair the broken line. Peter glanced to those around himself and watched as they embarked onto the defensive positions they were taking up near and around the Staff Sergeant’s position, but before Peter moved, he reached out and pulled the support gunner with the B-A-R aside having noticed a good position he could mount-up. “Private, let’s get that B-A-R of yours set up by that ditch over there” he said, pointing towards a large ditch at the side of the road, more than enough cover to act as a fortified trench and a clear line of sight across the T-Junction to cover the road ahead. “I’ll be sticking with you, relying on your firepower to cover my ass if I have to break cover” he noted after, giving the private a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before he moved out of cover and made haste towards the ditch he was talking about.

Dropping down into the ditch, he slumped against the curved mound of dirt and began to remove items of his gear. Throwing the aviator’s bag with all his medical equipment to one side and unclipping his webbing, he removed any unnecessary pieces of kit that would simply weigh him down if he had to run the mile. As Peter drew his M1 Carbine up by his side, an explosion erupted causing Peter to involuntarily duck a little in the process. A voice hollered out soon after, before Peter could make the call himself; everything was fine, until gunfire roared from down the road and began to suppress the Staff Sergeant’s position in a bid to spray the area and continue to catch them off guard.

Peering out of the ditch, Peter tried to note the locations of the gunfire coming at them and a possible route they could take to suppress them back with a flanking procedure maybe, but the Germans seemed well dug in and their lines of fire covered a majority of their positions. Sliding back down into the ditch, Peter turned to the private next to him and spoke “Short bursts on that MG position, you see it? Eleven o’clock!” he ordered, knowing he needed to get the Staff Sergeant and his companion out of the situation of being pinned - immediately and the B-A-R gunner could either help suppress or draw their fire momentarily.

After telling the private to direct his fire on the MG, Peter unclipped a smoke grenade that was attached to his removed webbing laying beside him and firmly held it within his grasp, peering over the ditch for a moment as he yelled out towards the Staff Sergeant being suppressed. “Sergeant! I’m tossing smoke! Get the hell out of there!” he bellowed, knowing they had to abandon the wire and deal with the Germans or make one hell of a quick repair under a lot of fire. Either way, Peter gave the Staff Sergeant an option and pulled the pin on his smoke canister, launching it between the Staff Sergeant’s position and hail of fire as best he could, before falling back down into the ditch as a frenzy of bullets bounced about their position, kicking up pockets of dirt and grit.

[PFC. Joey Toniatti]

[[OOC:I took over from here, as planned. Sorry for the god mod PuNk, if you don’t like it I will edit it out but I figured it would allow you to post a bit more instead of just sitting there watching the flanking.]]

The area had fallen quiet except for the few birds that played they’re songs in the area. It was very soothing seeing as the soldiers in the middle of the road were in the time of war, a harsh war. Something no one wanted to be stuck in at all.

Soon enough the medic was going around and giving some orders, seeing as he was the only idle NCO around. The other two were doing work on the wire, or at least until they were pinned down by a machine gun firing among them. This was lea don by an explosion, sounded like a mine of sorts as the dirt was flung up into the air. Joey felt it ping against his helmet as it began to come back down towards the ground once more.

Though the machine gun was firing at the crossroads Joey took enough incentive to make it into the ditch in-between the hedgerow and road before the Machine gun nest took aim onto his part. They couldn’t be pinned down as it wouldn’t get the Americans anywhere. Joey watched as the Staff Sergeant was pinned by the machine gun. There he lay and squirmed around without the help of anyone else.

Though one did decide to take action, but it wasn’t an action that got anyone anywhere. The Medic tossed a smoke grenade into the middle of the road, and Joey took the opportunity. Yelling to the other seven privates Joey said ”Jesus Christ, Clint, Cheverson, Everyone else get the fuck in this ditch. You too medic!” The smoke began to spew all over the road and the Machine gun shifted towards the smoke and the privates began to drop into the ditch. Joey gave warning to the Sergeant ”Sarge’, stay down don’t move!”.

Joey was nervous and Clint looked up to Joey and cried out ”Jesus Christ Toni what are we gunna do?” Joey scanned the area and gave the signal for everyone to follow him. The Seven soldiers kept they’re heads down as they made they’re way towards the machine gun nest and through the ditch.

Joey turned to the others and gave the signal to stop and drop down low. ”Clint take those two and get across the road. Cheverson, Kyle, and I will cover you from here. Medic you stay with my squad. Once you’re across we will continue up towards the MG. There is a cut in the Hedgerow up there and I will lead these three up through there and then around to the side to take out that MG. You’re job is to cover our advance from that side of the road up there. Got it? Oh by the way, if shit hits the fan we meet here.” Joey looked up to the Machine Gun and waited for it to reload. As soon as the Machine Gun fire stopped Joey yelled out ”Go now!”. The four privates that were not to run across the road began to lay down covering fire until they’re ammo ran out. The privates made it across with little damage, one of them taking a bullet on the edge of his helmet, nearly escaping death. Joey looked back to the others and noticed them hustling up to the covering fire area. Joey gave the signal to go and the men following him made it to the hedgerow opening. The fun started now.

[PuNk! ™]

The following CP has been awarded; I know this is an old thread, but the new CP rules will still apply, 2CP a post!

Mac, Peter and Joey: 6CP each.
~Danny