A Tale of Two Dogs ... Sort of

Kodi and Bear tucked away for a long drive.

Back in the day, when The Nuke was single and lived in Alexandria, VA, one of the highlights of each visit with her was taking her dogs out for a walk. Seems like a mundane thing but it's how we bonded with our "granddogs."

Now Bear (she's the brown one in the photo, she's a shepherd/chow mix) viewed each outing as an adventure, a thing to take her time on and enjoy every moment. Picture her stopping every few feet to smell something she found interesting. She was a big believer in stopping to smell the roses (and sometimes peeing on them).

Kodi, on the other hand (she's a pit bull/lab mix) viewed these outings as a mission. There was a destination, same place every time, and something to do at that destination. Mind you, she enjoyed these outings a great deal, but they were missions, not adventures.

While Bear was stopping and sniffing, Kodi marched on, head down, fixed in purpose and mien, determined to get the job done, then get back to the apartment.

Now today is my last day at work, my last day of full-time employment. Since 1972 I've been more like Kodi than like Bear. I was "on mission," I had a reason and a purpose for getting up everyday.

Now I can stop and "smell the roses" (no, I won't pee on them like Bear) and pretty much do what I feel like doing.

It feels a bit odd not having to head in to work any more, the novelty will eventually wear off, I'm sure.

That's all for now.

Blogging might get sparse as the holidays proceed.

We shall see.

Right now I don't really feel pressed to do much of anything.

Because I'm, ya know, retired.

Think I'll take the dogs for a walk ...

John Blackshoe Sends: Serendipity History - A Souvenir of the American North Russia Expeditionary Forces 1918-1919 (Part 2 of 2)

Composite photo showing full inscription on PVT Joyce’s souvenir shell case.

Author’s collection and photo

While PVT Joyce and the 339th Infantry were crossing the pond, General Pershing, in response to Washington directions, decided to divert 143 officers and 4,344 troops to North Russia, instead of France, and thus the “Polar Bears” adventure began. The 339th was the core of the American force, with additional engineers and medical troops. After arrival in England, the 339th were issued Russian Model 1891 Mosin Nagant rifles (made in America but stalled in the UK after the Russian revolutionaries repudiated the Tsarist contracts). Using those would make logistics easier when cooperating with loyalist “White” Russian forces. They left England on August 27th, and arrived in Archangel (near Murmansk) on September 4th to become part of a larger Allied force, with a lot of Brits, some Canadians and a smattering of French, and Polish troops, augmenting local Russian forces of dubious loyalty or effectiveness.

This force covered lines about 450 miles long, extending 200 miles south towards Moscow on the sole railroad, and on two rivers (which in the winter were frozen like you see on “Ice Road Truckers” except with small sleds drawn by horses or reindeer). 

So, how did sending Americans to Russia fit into the bigger picture?

While the west was busy fighting Germans in France, Russia was doing internal Russian stuff in 1917-1918, and the eastern front collapsed, freeing German troops for action on the western front. Something like this:

• February 1917 Revolution- Riots and mutinies in Russian Army and Navy- Tsar abdicates- dual governments take over.
• October 1917- “October Revolution” Lenin and the Bolshevik “Reds” take over. “Whites” oppose them.
• March 3, 1918- Treaty of Brest-Litovsk – Russia quits the war and cedes control of Finland, Eastern Europe, Poland and Ukraine. Read more about this important but little known treaty here.
• July 1918- Tsar executed 

The situation in Russia 1918-1920 showing effects of Treaty of Brest-Litovsk

Source

In the summer of 1918, there were massive amounts of supplies and arms in Archangel and Murmansk to be kept from the Russian revolutionaries, or possibly German forces seeking to open a naval base in Murmansk. In reality, the Russians had already looted the most valuable stuff from the warehouses, and the Germans were in no shape to move in that direction. Still, there were a large number of Czech troops cut off on the eastern front that the Allies hoped to rescue and transport to fight on the western front. It all sounded good on paper, and, President Wilson wanted to ensure the U.S. had some weight at the eventual negotiating table, so he ordered U.S. troops to North Russia and Siberia.

The Polar Bears basically ended up fighting back and forth along the railroad and rivers, heading inland from Archangel, spending the winter of 1918-1919 in sub-zero weather, living in impoverished villages waiting for the Bolsheviks to attack. The White Russians proved a fickle ally, aware that the Allies would leave someday, and they would still be there.

The details of the campaigns, combat, weather, logistics, relations with the locals (who generally liked the Americans), the Red Cross, the YMCA, the allies are really well covered in 339th’s unit history by CAPT Joel R. Moore, LT Harry H. Mead and LT Lewis E. Jahns, The History of the American Expedition Fighting the Bolsheviki; Campaigning in North Russia 1918-1919, Polar Bear Publishing Co. Detroit, MI, 1920.

The digital version is available here, or in hard copy from ABEbooks.com for people who like to read physical books.

 

It includes a photo of a Trench Mortar crew on page 97. Possibly one of them is our PVT Joyce, but the quality of the digitized half tone image is marginal. They had at least 7 mortars.

Source

The History Guy’s “1918 Polar Bear Expedition” is a superb 17 minute summary, with many more details. He includes some of the video which used in Part I, while adding context and great commentary on the futility of the whole operation.

The final part of this video shows the 339th embarking in Archangel for their return to the U.S. in June 1919. Can you spot anyone with a 16” long shell case in his backpack? Ancestry.com documents include the muster list for the return voyage, and PVT Joyce’s discharge on July 18, 1919 and his later living in Wilmington.

VA Grave marker application.
Source

Veterans Administration records of headstone or grave marker requests are another great resource for historians or genealogists, and readily available on Ancestry.com. This confirms Pvt. Joyce’s military career, dates of birth and death, and identifies a relative. His grave marker (ordered above) notes his rank as “Mechanic” unit Headquarters Company 339th Infantry, and World War I, but no mention of service in Russia. (Source)

PVT. John J. Joyce’s grave in Wilmington, DE, with the marker ordered above.
Source

The AEF- North Russia had 553 casualties: 109 killed in battle; 35 died of wounds; 81 from disease (90% of those from influenza); 19 from accidents/other causes; 305 wounded and 4 POWS (released). Even after recovery operations post war, about 30 of the American dead remain in unknown graves in Russia.

Another excellent historical study of the expedition is Roderick Hosler, “THE AMERICAN INTERVENTION IN NORTH RUSSIA, 1918-1919,” published by the Army Historical Foundation.

Confirmation of the dubious value of excessive interventionism is found in the 84 page U.S. Army Campaigns of World War I Publication 77-50 “The Russian Expeditions 1917-1920.” It covers both the North Russia Expedition discussed here and the concurrent, but totally separate, “American Expeditionary Forces- Siberia” way over on the Pacific terminus of the Trans Siberian Railroad, about 5,500 miles away. (We might look at some artifacts and people from that theater some other time.) The Army summary is:

“In early 1917, the Allied coalition in the First World War was in crisis as German pressure pushed the Russian Empire to the brink of collapse. Desperate to maintain the Eastern Front against the Central Powers, the Allies intervened. However, with their resources committed elsewhere, they needed a source of military forces for deployment to Russia. President Woodrow Wilson agreed to supply American troops for two expeditions: the American North Russia Expeditionary Forces and the American Expeditionary Forces-Siberia. Unfortunately, there was no specific or long-term objective in Russia. Without a clear mission or tangible achievements, the expeditions eventually faded into the background.”

339th Infantry Distinguishing Unit Insignia
Source

Source for unit insignia description below:

The 339th Regiment Unit Crest, better known as a DUI or a unit crest, with the Regimental motto III TBIKB P B IIIAETB (Russian), which translates as “The Bayonet Decides” or “We Finish With The Bayonet” and is pronounced as if it were spelled "shtuk ryshayet" in English.

A polar bear on a blue background is copied from the unofficial Shoulder Sleeve Insignia of the North Russia Expeditionary Force. The canton (inset at upper left) displays part of the coat of arms from the city of Cadillac, founder of Detroit, reflecting the fact that the Regiment consisted of a large proportion of men from Detroit (it was locally referred to as “Detroit’s Own”).

Private John J. Joyce’s souvenir shell case reminded him of his adventures in Russia. It should also remind all of us about the service and sacrifice of Americans in every clime and place. And, that national borders constantly shift around the world and that our involvement often accomplishes little.

John Blackshoe Sends: Serendipity History - A Souvenir of the American North Russia Expeditionary Forces 1918-1919 (Part 1 of 2)

Soldier souvenirs sometimes have interesting stories, like this one, revealing a person, their unit and location, while others are anonymous tourist trinkets.  This is a British brass shell case for a 3 pounder naval gun, embellished with somewhat crude markings, often called “Trench Art.” In this case [pun intended] it was connected to an American soldier, whose WW1 service and combat was not in France, but in the Russian Arctic.

Author’s collection and photo.

“MECH” refers to John J. Joyce’s rank, “Mechanic” which was a WW1 Army way of designating troops with technical skills who got higher pay than their nominal military rank peers. Joyce was a Private First Class, and also “Mechanic” and both were used in his records.

 

This short video provides visual context for this whole story.  It starts with the 339th Infantry arriving at Archangel in September 1918, training in the local area, and their departure in June 1919. PVT Joyce is possibly one of the mortar crews shown from 1:03 to 1:29. 

Screen capture
Watch Video

The brass case is from a British Navy 3 pounder Vickers gun, like the one below on a shipboard mount. In North Russia these were also mounted on armored trains and river boats as the Allies fought their way up and down those vital transportation routes. The Vickers’ muzzle velocity, range and trajectory were the best of several different 3 pounder guns of the era.  The case is 47 x 414mm rimmed (47 mm bore diameter by 414mm long, or 1.85” x 16.29”), and was made in 1918 by Royal Laboratories, bearing the naval inspector marking of the broad arrow over N. Although the Vickers 3 pounders were not used by U.S. forces, Joyce’s mortar job may have facilitated contacts with British artillery troops to get a few cases for souvenirs, likely in exchange for American tobacco or rations. The actual decoration may have been done by someone in the 339th infantry, or by a local civilian artisan entrepreneur, or perhaps by Joyce himself.

British Naval 3 pounder Vickers gun which used this type of case.
Source

John Joseph Joyce (1893-1964) lived in Delaware almost all his life. He was born in Wilmington on July 10, 1893 to a father from Ireland and mother from Sweden. At age 17, he and his 15 year old brother were both working in bridge construction.  In June 1917, when he registered for the draft at age 24, he was an asbestos worker in Detroit, described as medium height, stout build, blue eyes and light hair, and he was supporting his mother.

He entered the Army on November 20, 1917, and in June 1918 became part of the 339th Infantry Regiment, composed of draftees from the Detroit area and some from Wisconsin, training to fight the Huns on the Western Front in France. 

Joyce and most of the rest of the 339th Infantry sailed from New York on July 21st aboard the USS PLATTSBURG.  This was a former passenger ship built in Scotland in 1888 as a schooner rigged passenger steamship, with a hull more like a clipper ship, but with twin screws added, quite the classy ship when built. In 1893 she set a speed record for transatlantic crossing (later broken by other ships, and last set in 1958).  The ship was first called SS CITY OF NEW YORK, later SS NEW YORK, sailing for an American company. During the Spanish American War she was chartered as an auxiliary cruiser, renamed USS HARVARD, afterwards returning to commercial trade under her old name until chartered again in WW1 with the new name USS PLATTSBURG (SP-1645) where she made four voyages taking troops to Europe, and then seven bringing them home after the Armistice.

USS PLATTSBURG leaving drydock with new camouflage paint job, six weeks before PVT Joyce boarded.
(Public Domain)

When troops boarded USS Plattsburg, each was given a “Troop Billet Card” like the one below, assigning them to a specific bunk in a specific berthing compartment, along with washroom, latrine, and an abandon ship station. 

Source

Army passenger lists are a treasure for historians, listing every passenger, their unit, next of kin and their address. Ancestry.com or Fold3 websites provide access to these. The sailing list for USS PLATTSBURG departing New York on July 21, 1918 with the 339th Infantry included PVT 1st Class Joyce of the Headquarters Company, his service number and listed his mother at 524 Vandever Ave, Wilmington, DE.

Source

Source

524 Vandever Avenue was the Joyce family home, which has changed little in the last 100 years. PVT Joyce returned there after the war, and after being a pipefitter for a while, spent the final 31 years of his life operating a tavern a few blocks away. 

 

(To be continued in Part 2 of 2)

Editor's Note: After I publish Part 2 of JB's latest interesting trek down yet another little known episode in our history, I'll get back to the tankers in the woods. This was too good to hold back, also, I ain't ready yet ...

Not quite Christmas...Yet!

OK Campers, we're getting closer to that big day, you know, Christmas! Where we celebrate the Birth of Our Lord, first and foremost. Then we open presents and have a big dinner with all the fixins and Friends and Family gather...to celebrate the Birth of our Lord. Right? Actual Christmas celebration this year will be Mrs J and I and my Brother (Note to self: Need to come up with a blog nickname for Brother. While "Hey Punk" has a history in our relationship, something tells me it won't work nowadays. Suggestions appreciated.)

MBD, The Rev and the rest of the Gang are celebrating Christmas with his family. The gang from the 'Burg will arrive at CStat on the 26th. Gift exchanging will take place at some point during the ensuing 3 days. Not quite the same, but pretty darn close. I guess we're kinda like the Three Magi, late to the party, but still remembered. 

Looking forward to the visit...A lot!

 

Source

On the "WhatCha doin on the keeping busy" side of things, Mrs J determined that the temperature sine wave was going a little too much below the "comfortable" range.  That range is about 40 degrees here, much below that and the dogs get pretty vocal. (Yes, Beans, I know Sarge regularly goes sunbathing at -40 degrees.  What can I say?)

In any case, they like their role as guard dogs, hence they bark at the slightest strange sound.  Which, if they're in the house, means we get no sleep either.  So...

Mrs J determined that an investment in a canine apartment complex constructed on the back porch was a worthwhile expenditure of Benjamins.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

 

Oops, Typo, Sorry. A little Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner is good for the Christmas Cheer, No? 

So ...

Hardest part of the project was moving the two boxes (1 each) from outside the gate to the back porch, very bulky and heavy.  It is a two person job in putting them together, one to hold the pieces in position. The other to screw the bolts in.

First night trial, Atticus, the leader of the pack, slept on the patio couch.  Gryndll, however, was nowhere in sight.  There also was no barking in the yard, so the assumption is he was in his nice, warm, quiet bedroom.

Or at least we hope so. Maybe he'll convince Atticus that he can fulfill his guard dog duties and keep warm at the same time. 

Again, we hope so.

Mrs J also took the opportunity to  straighten up our patio, got a trip to the dump scheduled for today.  But the back yard looks a heck of a lot better.  My back and the words "lot better" are not orbiting in the same universe however.

Learned something else new.  I mentioned a while ago that I had purchased a MacPro laptop.  Well, this post is being written on my 10 year old PC.  Seems Apple didn't mention that my version of the MacPro laptop has a battery problem.  Went to write last week's posting and the laptop wouldn't power on.  Tried hooking it up to electric power, no change.  Took it to the local computer dude, he said he'd heard of the problem and I needed a new battery.

No, Beans, it's not covered by warranty.  It's a refurbished computer.  Looks like I"m gonna be out $250, plus labor to get back in the saddle.  Just when I was getting used to Mac peccadilloes and forgetting those of a PC.

Ahh, Well! To end on a rather humorous note, I saw this sign this morning as we were walking back to our truck after a brunch downtown.

The sign was on the other side of the sidewalk and therefore the street, the difference between the two walls is less than 4 feet, so if a car could cross the sidewalk, well, I guess the car could serve as their BnB cause they ain't gonna be able to open the doors.

I gotta chuckle about it though.

Peace out, y'all!

Singing Second

CBS Sports Screen capture

Okay, I know, I know. I'm in the middle of a "Vignette" but truthfully, when the Army-Navy game is on, everything is paused.

A superb outing by the Boat School. Singing second is the best.

I know, I was Air Force, my Dad and his Dad were Army, but all three kids were Navy, both sons-in-law are Navy, Big Time is still an aviator on active duty in the Navy, and Tuttle is a graduate of Annapolis, old retired aviator that he is. (Sorry about the "old" crack Tuttle, but that's what retirees are, old! 😎😉)

CBS Sports Screen capture

So yes, go Navy, beat Army ...

Which they did. In a big way.

CBS Sports Screen capture

Singing first is not the goal ...

CBS Sports Screen capture

Singing second is!!!

CBS Sports Screen capture

Horvath had a hell of a game, kid is a stud.

CBS Sports Screen capture

But this guy? Yup, the OAFS play of the game. Fake punt with a snap to the nose tackle on defense ...

What?

Yup, the nose tackle.

Who runs for a HUGE first down.

Being a big guy myself, I love to see the big guys carry the ball.

We'll get back to the woods with the tankers on Tuesday. Right now, it's basking in the glow of a Navy victory.

To my Army friends, especially the West Pointers - looking at you Jim (fellow tackle in high school) - better luck next year. You guys did have a helluva season and you've got nothing, repeat nothing, to be ashamed of.

Sometimes you get the goat ...

Sometimes the goat gets you.

Withdrawal and Pursuit

Source

The driver was shivering, the temperature was dropping and the snow was falling harder. He didn't want to go back inside the tank, in these woods and on this narrow track he'd be lucky to see much from his periscope.

Reaching down with his left hand, he pulled his scarf up over his face. At the moment he did so, one of the tracks caught a root protruding from the soil and the tank lurched to the right. He got control quickly but not before catching hell from the commander.

"Driver, what the hell was that? Keep 'er under control, if we get off this path we'll probably throw a track."

"Sorry Skipper, won't happen again."

"Ah shit, driver, halt!"

The commander had turned to his rear to check on the infantry. They had stopped for some reason. It looked like their halftrack had bogged down, one of them was running up the trail to the tank.

The commander waited as the infantryman, a corporal, probably the new squad leader, climbed up onto the back deck of the tank.

"Sir! The halftrack has had it! Driver says the front axle is busted. Can we ride with you?"

The tank commander wondered if anything else could go wrong this day. He nodded and shouted, "Get a move on, we're still about two klicks from Checkpoint London. We need to hustle."

The infantryman waved a hand and went back to collect the remnants of his squad.

"Understood, we'll hold here, the reconnaissance element will be coming up to join us."

Once off the regimental frequency, he decided to go over and check on Three. The survivor had made it to them, but had died shortly thereafter. His gunner had tried to patch the man up, they thought they'd stopped the bleeding but the man's burns had been too extensive. His legs were charred.

"Gunner, come up here, I'm going over to Three. Somebody else might be alive over there. I saw two men get out of the turret hatches before she blew up. Besides, I need to clear my head."

Grabbing the machine pistol clipped inside the turret, the commander dismounted. Damn, it was cold. Putting his collar up, he started walking. Three was easy enough to find, just head towards the smoke.

He found the other man who had gotten out, on the far side of the vehicle. He saw immediately that the man was dead, when the tank's ammunition had cooked off, a sizeable piece of the turret had blown off and destroyed the man's upper torso. There wasn't much left of him above the waist.

"Shit."

He stood by the wreckage of Three, he felt guilty enjoying the heat produced by the funeral pyre of one of his tank crews, but the living had to press on. He would mourn his dead later, provided he didn't join them.

Checkpoint London was deserted, save for a small utility vehicle with two military policemen.

"Where the hell is everybody?" The commander of Firebird One was less than thrilled at the situation he found himself in. He turned to the infantry.

"Corp, have your men dismount and stretch their legs, I don't know how much further we have to go."

"Okay, Skipper."

As the infantry dismounted, the commander noticed one of the military policemen waving at him to get down off the tank. He thought for a moment, then told the crew he was dismounting.

As he walked over to the small vehicle, the policeman, a lieutenant he saw, barked at him.

"No salute, Sergeant? Can't you see I'm an officer?"

The Skipper sighed, some arrogant jerk from the rear echelon wanted to jerk his chain.

"This is the front, Sir. If I salute, someone might decide to shoot you. We don't do that up here."

The lieutenant placed his fists on his hips and took a deep breath, as if he was going to start screaming at the sergeant. As he did so, there was a commotion behind him. He turned.

The infantry corporal had his submachine gun leveled and pointed at the other military policeman who was blocking access to a small building the tank commander hadn't noticed. "My men are going in there to see if there is anything we can use. Move or I swear I will cut you down where you stand."

The lieutenant saw red, he drew his pistol and yelled out, "Goddamnit!"

"Corp, look out!"

The corporal turned his head, as he did so, the enlisted policeman grabbed the muzzle of his weapon. The corporal pulled the trigger.

The enlisted policeman hunched forward as three rounds tore into and through his midsection. A gout of blood escaped his mouth as he coughed convulsively. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The lieutenant had his pistol up and aimed at the corporal. The tank commander saw no way to stop the tragedy unfolding. When the shot came, the commander jumped. But the corporal was unharmed.

The police lieutenant dropped to his knees, "You sons of bitches, you ..."

He fell forward on his face and didn't move after that. One of the infantrymen came over, the man who had shot him as a matter of fact, and checked the man on the ground. He looked at his corporal, not the tank commander.

"He's still alive, Corp."

The corporal looked at the tank sergeant, who had drawn his sidearm.

A single shot rang out, the police lieutenant twitched and then moved no more. The tank commander had shot the man point blank. A large part of his head was gone.

"Corp, we better mount up and move on. You wanna take the car?"

"Sure," the corporal was shaking and his voice quivered, "much as I like your tank, it's kinda exposed back there."

Both men knew that they had just committed a crime, neither really cared at the moment. Somewhere, to their rear, was the enemy and they had to be coming on.

They grabbed everything useful at Checkpoint London, which wasn't much, then remounted the vehicles.

The commander had the turret rotated to the rear, the two infantrymen who didn't fit in the car were squeezed into the tank's crew compartment. The commander knew that in the event of a fight, he'd get one round off. It was too crowded in the turret to do much more.

They needed to get out of this forest!

Three followed the wheeled armored reconnaissance vehicle at a distance of fifty meters. That was their "reinforcement," a single scout car. but they had brought orders with them.

He looked at his map, about four kilometers from where the track led from the position they had attacked, was a small woodsman's hut. It was marked on the map as it was an official building, the foresters in this region tended the forest well and took their jobs seriously.

"Huh," the tank commander grunted, "state employees, probably loners living this far out in the woods."

The radio crackled.

"One, this is Foxhound. There's a halftrack up ahead on the trail. Looks abandoned."

"Jesus, Chief, where does this guy think he is? On maneuvers?"

Gesturing at his gunner to be still, he answered the scout car, "Put a couple of rounds into him, if he doesn't answer, then yes, he's abandoned."

Hearing the crack of the scout car's 20 mm cannon, he spoke into his microphone again, "Well, Foxhound? Do I have to guess what you discovered?"

"Sorry, One. Yes, it's abandoned, based on the tracks on the trail, there's a single vehicle, probably a tank, headed up the trail in front of us."

"Copy, hold your position while we join you."

His gunner spoke, "Okay, we saw two tanks and a halftrack, we've accounted for one tank and now the halftrack. Am I missing anything?"

The commander shook his head, "Yeah, that sums it up, let's get Two up here."

Tank Two had been left at the destroyed enemy position as security. Now that he felt he knew what was facing them, he decided to get his little force concentrated.

"Two, this is One."

"Go ahead."

"You see the forester's hut on your map?"

After a moment, Two answered, "Ah, yes, I see it."

"Rendezvous with us there, we'll wait."

"Copy."

"Foxhound, you on?"

"Yessir."

"Forester's hut, maybe another kilometer or so. We'll meet up there. I don't know what's ahead of us, so I'll lead the way."

"Thanks, Chief. I feel kinda naked in these damned woods."

"Copy. Move out after we pass the dead halftrack, give us about fifty meters interval."

"Copy."

Deeper into the forest they went.

To whatever Fate had in store for them ...

Contact ...

Source

The tank commander swore he saw movement to his front. He looked away from the spot he'd been staring at, sometimes his peripheral vision would pick things up faster, especially at night.

He was looking across a field towards another forest, with patchy fog in the area it was tough to see anything at a distance. But there were gaps ...

There! Something big, no, two or three "somethings."

"Driver, fire the engine up." He barked over the intercom, the crew would recognize his "don't ask" voice.

As the engine rumbled to life, he switched to the frequency which would connect him with the infantry next door.

"Blue Three, Firebird One, you guy's up?"

The reply was staticky but understandable, "We're here, what's going on to our front?"

"Don't know, there shouldn't be any of our guys forward of our position. Get your boys up and ready."

"Copy."

Source

"One, Three, infantry in the trees just up that next rise."

"I see them."

The commander of the lead tank had been glassing the treeline ahead and as the light increased he had seen men running towards what had to be dug in positions overlooking the field they had to cross.

"Gunner, I see a tank and some infantry, just like the recce team reported. No halftrack, no second tank, you seeing this?"

The gunner's optics were very good, better than the commander's field glasses and in a steady mount. He had seen the infantry shifting into position. There!

"Second tank, farther back in the woods. Want me to take him?"

"On my signal. Wait for it ..."

Source

The commander winced as he looked through his forward facing vision block, the sun was coming up in the east. Though the sky was overcast locally, to the east it was clearing and the bright sunlight in his eyes was painful. In minutes the sun would be obscured by low scudding cloud, for the moment it blocked his view to the east, where the enemy was.

To his left he heard the scream of an incoming shell, blinking he turned to that direction. An instant later that shell exploded to the rear.

"Firebird Two, report!"

"Firebird Two here, we're up, damn near shit my pants. That was HE, my gunner has the shooter in his sights."

"Take him out!"

Source

"Three! What the hell are you shooting at?"

There was no response. "Radio, get me the artillery frequency. Things are going to hell too fast."

"You're connected."

As the commander began to call in a fire mission, it struck him that his gunner had not fired.

"Gunner, hit that tank!"

"Which one?"

The commander overrode the gunner's controls at that point. Pressing his face into his own sight, he saw the tank back in the trees, but not the one he'd seen earlier to the front. Damn it. He got the gun on target and fired.

"Loader! AP!"

"Loading!"

"Woodpile, fire mission!" The commander needed to get artillery down on these guys across the field.

"Jesus!" One of his crew shouted over the intercom.

The gunner's shot was on target, he saw sparks as his shot hit the enemy tank then apparently ricocheted off into the blue. He was starting to panic, then he heard his loader scream, "UP!"

He hit his trigger after making a few minor adjustments to his aim point. This time his shot "stuck." Sparks, then a glowing hole in the enemy's lower hull.

"Three's hit!" The radioman called out, he had had his periscope turned to the right for some reason. When he'd noticed he reached up, looked through it and saw tank Three hit twice in succession. The first round had glanced off, the second had struck home. He could see flames issuing from the turret ring. His best friend was the gunner in Three.

The platoon commander watched in horror as the turret hatches on Three flew open. One man, wreathed in smoke, nearly leapt from the hatch then fell out of view on the other side of the vehicle.

A second man climbed out slowly, he was beating his trousers, which were on fire. The commander lost sight of him when the last man out pushed that man off the tank. This third man seemed to pause and look around, flames were starting to issue from the hatch he was in.

The man, probably the gunner, placed both hands on top of the turret and looked to be trying to heave himself out of the turret.

The commander lost sight of him when Three exploded.

He stood there in shock, then he heard, "Shot out!"

It puzzled him for a moment, then he remembered, the artillery!

"Skipper is dead." Came as a screech over the infantry frequency.

"What, who is this?"

"Blue Three, sorry boss! Firebird Two is dead. Our platoon sergeant is dead. We need to get the f**k out of here!"

The commander of Firebird One looked back, indeed, there was the hulk of Firebird Two, enveloped in flames, the turret missing. He hesitated. Looking through his vision blocks he could see the infantry running for their vehicle, which they'd parked about thirty meters behind Firebird Two.

He yelled into the radio, "Blue Three, get back to your positions!"

As he said that, artillery began to impact where the infantry had been.

He announced, to no one in particular, "We're f**ked, damn it. Driver, reverse, get us the hell out of here!"

Source

"They're pulling back!"

Once again his gunner was on top of things. The commander's mind felt like it was running in slow motion. He shook his head.

"Woodpile, Woodpile, mission complete. Enemy is falling back."

"Copy."

Switching frequencies he called regiment. "Roadblock is clear, we're going to advance to the position and hold."

Though the response faded in and out, the terrain played havoc with their communications, the commander heard the acknowledgement. He thought he heard that the main attack would go in elsewhere, he was to hold and await orders.

"Chief, looks like one guy survived from Three. He looks pretty messed up."

Standing in his hatch, he looked down to the ground. A wounded man staggered up, it was Three's loader, the legs of his tanker's coveralls were still smoldering.

"Radioman, loader, dismount and help this man."

Then he got on the platoon frequency, "Two, move up to the enemy position, I'll cover."

"Copy."

The commander shook his head, four dead on his side, who knew how many across the field. And for what?

Source

With his head out of the hatch, the driver felt better. Though the occasional rain squall was making that position rather uncomfortable, it was better than being buttoned up while people were shooting at you.

They'd driven by the remains of Firebird Two, still burning, the turret off in the woods somewhere. He'd known those guys, not well, but well enough. Now they were dead, all five of them.

What was left of the infantry, they had two wounded and three dead out of their squad, followed in their halftrack.

"Where to, Skipper?"

"Checkpoint London, about three klicks farther on. The rest of the company is there."

The driver shook his head, maybe they had a spare hatch seal. Something cold touched his face, the rain was turning to snow.

"Wonderful," he muttered to himself.