Opening Moves

The mortar unit CO’s half-track had been backed up to the rear entrance, from where a US army radio played Glenn Miller and similar, providing background for a poker school that was reaching its conclusion.

The Major’s eyes were drawn to the superbly painted laurel leaves and roman soldier on the rear of the vehicle.

Unable to help himself, he mouthed the familiar words intertwined there.

‘We came. We saw. We blew it away.’

Whenever Brennan saw the units unofficial insignia he could never quite work out if he should ban it or not, but mortar platoon was a top-notch outfit so he cut them plenty of slack.

2nd Lieutenant Finch was lying fast asleep in a cot nearby, oblivious to his commander’s presence.

Master Sergeant Julius Augustus Collins looked across to his own boss snoring softly, then up at his company commander who shook his head in understanding and then gestured comfortably so that Collins knew he didn’t need to interrupt his game.

Collins passed the Major a bottle and pointed him at an ammo box stack where he could take the weight of his legs.

Concentrating on the hand, the bald non-com carefully counted out $20 in $1 bills, and pushed it forward, announcing a raise.

Cards were thrown down in disgust until the only other player holding was Lopez, the swarthy little Mexican.

Pulling deeply on a cigar nearly as large as himself, the card player contemplated the Sergeant with apparent disdain.

The Master Sergeant similarly drew heavily on his Cuban, knowing that that Lopez had taken 3 cards, and knowing that his own ace-queen flush was good.

After a delay during which Brennan took a slug of the cool coca-cola and passed it on to Brown, Lopez pushed all his money forward and dropped his cards face down in front of him, staring unblinkingly at Collins.

“All in muchacho.”

The Master-Sergeant laughed loudly in triumph, pushing his own stack forward, laughing harder as he threw down his flush in spades and stopped only as Lopez slowly leant forward and started to arrange the pile of bills. His full house, eights on tens, sat proud for all to see.

“Sonofafuckingbitch! You Mexican bandit!”

Lopez was the card king and Collins really though he had him there.

Laughter was a good indication of a happy unit and, even in the face of the casualties and defeats of late, this group were high on morale.

“Good morning Major, Lieutenant Brown. Want me to wake him up?” He indicated the still snoring Finch.

Brennan did need to speak to the officer and was debating the point inside when something registered in his mind, the same thing that was registering in a few minds within his field of vision.

‘That wasn’t thunder.’

A sentry was through the tent flap within a few seconds.

“Gunfire, two shots Sir. Perimeter secure.”

The man disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Finch would have had a gentler awakening a few minutes earlier but now the tough as nails non-com known as Caesar roared his troops into business at the top of his voice, startling the sleeper into life, and then being startled some more when his CO stood over him.

“No time Finch. We just heard two shots. Some distance away I think. None the less, get your unit ready for bear a-sap. Send a runner to heavy weapons platoon next in line and get them to hustle up here with some extra support.”

Leaving the startled lieutenant to gather his wits and his uniform, Brennan cast his eye around the controlled mayhem before him.

He singled out an old Corporal.

“Watkins, get on that horn and inform all company call-signs that we may have infiltrators and to stay alert.”

The Corporal was on the job within seconds.

“Master-Sergeant, I want three of your men.”

Collins, fully dressed and armed, clicked his fingers at three men putting them to the duty and ran out into the driving rain.

Major Brennan followed him out and immediately saw that the mortar positions had lost their dinghy protection and were ready to go.

Collins was in conversation with one of his Corporals and took in the man’s information and agitated pointing.

“Major, Runcieman reckons it came from the direction of your hooch.”

Brennan nodded.

Collins understood the moment too.

“More security Sir,” and he gestured to a squad to follow on the heels of the CO’s group, steadily picking its way towards the headquarters location.

Safety catches were off.

0400 hrs Saturday 11th August 1945, Trendelburg, Germany.

Chekov’s men had reached the bridge undiscovered and moved off the water and into the surrounding undergrowth to wait for the signal.

A special party stole silently under the bridge.

From the darkness a red torch flashed twice and the special party received ten further engineers to help them cut wires and make safe the demolition charges prepared and laid by the American defenders.

The designated security force stood watch and was forced to act immediately, pulling a wandering American soldier into the darkness where his life was ended, all for the want of a pee in the river.