How Stump Made Private...

(Source)

"Stump, you have a minute?"

"Sure L.T., whaddaya need?"

"Walk with me."

PFC Flavio Gentile, "Stump" to his platoon, walked with 1Lt Paddock towards the dugout holding the platoon CP. Waiting at the entrance was Sgt Stephen Hernandez, the new platoon sergeant.

"Hey Stump, how goes it?" Hernandez asked, smiling.

"Hey hermano¹, things are good, I'm still alive, right?" Gentile had known Hernandez back when both men were in Able Company, both had been at, and had survived Kasserine, but had been in different platoons.

Stump had been a corporal then, squad leader of one of Weapons Platoon's two light machine gun sections. They had still been equipped with the water-cooled M1917A1 Browning .30 caliber machine gun. Hernandez had been a private in 1st Platoon. They had known each other well back then but had lost touch after North Africa.

Hernandez chuckled, "Yup, good to be on this side of the grass isn't it? The L.T. and I need to talk to you, well, you need to talk, L.T. wants to listen. I know the story."

At that PFC Gentile looked a bit uncomfortable. "I don't know Sarge, I've put that all behind me."

"I need to know Stump, I have my reasons." 1Lt Paddock walked up, he looked very serious when he said that.

"You want the story about Kasserine, right?"

"Yup, all of it."

"Okay. Here's how I remember it..."

(Source)

"Jesus Philly, that's a lot of Krauts!"

"Just focus on the gun Leibowitz, short bursts. We're out in the f**king desert with a water cooled machine gun, the one thing that's hard to get, water." Corporal Gentile shook his head and spat in the dust.

"I dunno Corp, ammo's kinda short and the food stinks."

"Put a sock in it, Greene. Just make sure that belt feeds when Herbie here is hosing down Krauts."

Turning to the two men behind him, Cpl Flavio "Philly" Gentile said, "Moscone, Jackson, make sure we stay topped off with ammo. I know there's gonna be a temptation to stay in the rear when you go back for more, but don't think I won't come looking for it after."

"Gee Corp, what if you get killed?" Tom Moscone wasn't one to pull punches.

"My f**king ghost will come find you, count on it numbnuts!"

"Now settle the f**k down, here the bastards come..."

Swarming up from the floor of the pass was at least a full company of Afrika Korps panzergrenadiers, supported by at least three Panzer III tanks. As they advanced, German mortar rounds began to drop near their position. The Germans hadn't spotted them, they were simply providing supporting fire for their infantry, meant to keep American heads down and not firing at the advancing infantry.

"Okay, you ready Herbie? Let's start the music."

With his first short, controlled burst, PFC Herbert Leibowitz knocked down at least three Germans who had been far too close together. The others began to return fire and were spreading out, they hadn't spotted the machine gun position yet. But it was only a matter of time.

That's when Gentile's gun ceased fire, and another position opened up on the German infantry. Fortunately for the Americans the three German tanks were dueling with a hull-down Sherman and were far too busy to bother the American infantry.

"Right, grab yer gear, we're shifting to the alternate firing position." Gentile watched as the Germans turned to face the new threat. They were starting to go to ground and return fire, Gentile could tell that the German attack was starting to bog down. At that same instant he saw one of the German tanks begin to issue lots of black, oily smoke. It looked like the Sherman had gotten a kill. The Germans were starting to edge back now.

As the men began to move, a commanding voice bellowed, "Where the Hell do you men think you are going?"

Gentile turned to see an American captain, one he'd never seen before, advancing on them, pistol drawn and running crouched.

"I asked you a question soldier!" The man bellowed again.

"Sir, we're shifting position, who are you anyway? You're not in my chain of command. Now piss off. Guys let's go."

As the men moved to their alternate position, Gentile tried to follow them, but this unknown captain grabbed his sleeve, "I could have you court martialed for disobeying a direct order Corporal!"

"Jesus, I do not have time for this." Gentile had heard the zip and crack of incoming fire from the Germans, the commotion had attracted their attention. At that, Cpl Gentile turned and punched the captain square in the mouth. He shook his hand, knowing that had been a dumb move, but he had to get his gun back in action.

The captain had gone down like a sack of potatoes falling off a high shelf. His mouth was bloody and he'd lost at least two teeth. He was also, for the moment, out cold.

The Germans had fallen back, their initial attack had failed, that night they had returned with a vengeance. The American positions overlooking the pass had been overrun by German panzergrenadiers and Italian Bersaglieri, the American defenses had fallen apart. Of his machine gun squad, only he, Leibowitz, and Bill Jackson had survived.

As they fell back, still carrying their disabled machine gun, they had encountered their section leader, Sgt Will Hammersmith.

"Jesus Philly, is this all you've got left?"

"Yeah, we need to keep moving, Will, the Bersaglieri ain't that far behind. I don't know what happened to McTavish's squad, I think they're all dead, but I can't be sure. They were overrun by a Kraut tank and a shitload of Kraut infantry."

Sgt Hammersmith looked amazed, "What, you're running from the Italians? Are you shitting..." As he spoke, a round from an Italian Carcano rifle hit him in the neck. He fell, grasping his throat and starting to choke.

Gentile got under Hammersmith and tried to stop the bleeding, but Will kept getting his hands in the way, "Jesus Will, stop f**king fighting me, you're bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Corp, we need to go man!" Jackson was starting to panic, Leibowitz looked ready to shoot him though, if he tried to run.

"Shut the f**k up Bill. Will's hurt. We need to cover them." Herbie barked at his buddy Bill.

"With what? The gun is f**ked, we're f**ked!" But Jackson did start firing his M1 Carbine down towards where the Italian fire seemed to be coming from. There was so much tracer fire going both ways, he didn't quite know where to shoot, so he just cranked out rounds.

Leibowitz drew his .45 and started firing as well. When he stopped to reload, he heard Cpl Gentile say, "All right fellas, let's get the Hell out of here."

Leibowitz turned and saw his corporal holding their section leader in his arms. Sgt Hammersmith was clearly dead, and Gentile seemed rather too calm about it. "Corp, you okay?"

"Yeah." Cpl Gentile laid his buddy down, took one of the man's dog tags and leaned over, kissing his dead sergeant on the forehead. Then he smoothed the man's hair and said, "Sorry Will, see you on the other side. Okay?"

Gentile then stood up, told Leibowitz to leave the machine gun and grab Hammersmith's carbine and ammo. Looking around, he then ordered, "Let's move."

They made it down from the pass and regrouped with what was left of Weapons Platoon, the mortar section were all missing, all that remained of the machine gun section was Gentile, Leibowitz, and Jackson. Platoon headquarters was represented by the platoon sergeant, SSgt Mac Kasparovich, and one messenger, Pvt Horace Milhouse. Out of an original strength of one officer and thirty-eight men, these five were all that was left.

As they tried to find the rest of Able Company, they met up with a detachment of MPs² and a very irate captain with a fat lip, two black eyes, and several missing teeth.

"So that's pretty much the story L.T., the guy almost got us killed, I slugged him. Too bad he was some colonel's idiot son-in-law." Gentile sighed, he hated telling that story.

"You got busted to private, fined a hundred bucks, and spent 30 days in the stockade. Then you make it back to PFC in Sicily, then you wipe out a Kraut machine gun position on Omaha, for which you got a Bronze Star..."

"Don't forget the Purple Heart L.T." Sgt Hernandez offered.

"No, I haven't forgotten that, Stephen."

"Just doing what I was trained to do L.T., I ain't no hero." Gentile was wondering where all this was going.

"I talked to the captain, and the battalion commander. We're giving you your stripes back, as of yesterday you're a corporal, the battalion CO agrees. As of today, Captain Josephson has promoted you to sergeant for your actions since joining Charlie Company. I'm giving you 3rd Squad."

"But that's Mike Peavey's squad..." Gentile began to protest, then Hernandez raised a hand to stop him.

"Mike was killed by a sniper this morning. A simple f**king patrol, out and back, wasn't even supposed to be hard. One goddamned Kraut in a f**king barn ended Mike's life. His guys are devastated. I know you can handle this, Stump. Okay hermano?"

"All right, I don't know what to say L.T., Mike was a good guy."

"He had a good squad as well, you'll do fine." Hernandez stated flatly.

"Okay, okay Sgt Hernandez, if that's the job, I'll do my best."

"I expect nothing less, Sgt Gentile." Nate Paddock looked at Gentile, waiting.

"Roger that Sir. I better get over there, see how they are."

"They already know Stump. They're waiting for you. Carry on." Paddock nodded at Gentile, smiling.

"Yes sir!"

Paddock looked at Hernandez and sighed, "I've got another letter to write, I hate this shit."

"We all do sir, we all do."

¹ Spanish for brother

² Military police