“Come on Johnson, you’re killing me! Ask me something a real American would know about, like about football or the movies! Over.”
“I bet you are a commie… Let’s see… All right, Who’s on first. Over.”
“…That’s right. Over.”
“Alright, now we’re talking! We’re in real bad shape here Lieutenant. The General and his staff were captured. Me and some the guys in my squad think it happened when they went to check on a problem to our south. Something about the Reds blocking the road and taking out the supply guys that were behind us. Anyway, we haven’t heard from anyone higher than a Major in a while, then this plane dropped in our lap. Pilot and passenger are both dead. We got a bunch of Captains and Lieutenants running around not able to find their asses in the dark with a flashlight… Damn! Umm, no offense intended, sir… Over.”
“It’s alright, Private. You’re doing a hell of a job. Find one of those Captains, or maybe even a Major for me. Over”
“Gladly sir. Except that I’m pinned down by those same damn Reds that we were supposed to ambush. Our tankers are firing the wrong shells or something, ‘cause they’re just bouncing off the armor of biggest-assed Red tanks I’ve ever seen!” Lieutenant Casey can hear the panic in Private Johnson’s voice growing over the radio.
“Private? Are you there? Private Johnson? Over”
The radio hisses for what seems like an eternity.
“Yeah I’m here, Lieutenant. They’re shelling around the plane. That was a close one. The same damned tank that killed the Major is hunting for me now sir. I gotta move. Listen sir. The dope is that we’re supposed to head up this here little road, to the east towards… Viola or violin… no, it’s Vigeois. Is that the way out of here? The word is that it’s a really bad road and not in the greatest of shape. Over.”
“Listen Private, we really need you to get to someone who is in charge. We need to know the situation, before we can give you orders. Get the ranking officer on the radio. Over.”
“You guys don’t get it. We’re being overrun. I got no way of getting this radio to anyone. I’m just hunkered under this plane, and the Reds are breathing down my neck. I can’t move, I can’t even talk loud. It’s amazing this radio still works much less trying to move it and finding an officer… a GODDAMNED OFFICER, beggin’ pardon, sir!”
“Alright Johnson, take it easy. I just took a look at our maps, and the operations officer on duty told me to give you these orders… If you are indeed cut off from the south then you will need to go to Vigeois. You are right that the tanks won’t be able to make the bridges, or through some of the gorges. You’ll have to leave them behind is what I’m being told. Use them as a rear guard to cover your retreat then when you’re ready to leave them, strip their breechblocks and torch their engines. From the looks of the map, you should have everyone head east, then take the first road headed south, towards… Objat. Got all that, Johnson? Do you copy? Over.”
“Got it NATO… Trash the tanks, then head out on foot east, then south, to Objat. Over”
“Good job Private. We’ll be sending the 101st Airborne to relieve you as soon as possible, and you’ll likely never hear the end of it. Over.”
“Aw shit sir, not those cowboys from the 101st! Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. Thanks, Lieutenant Casey. Over”
“Good luck, Johnson… say what’s your first name? Over.”
“Lars… and my wife’s name is Emma. That’s Emma Johnson, in Louisville, Kentucky. Over”
“Good luck Lars. Over… Johnson do you read me? Over… Johnson?”
“Sorry sir, We seem to have lost the signal.”
The radio operator looks right past the Major and tries to hide his emotions, as he writes down “Pfc. Lars Johnson, of Louisville, Kentucky, husband of Emma Johnson.”
The staff officer strode with purpose into General of the Army Omar Bradley’s office holding a sheaf of papers, “Sir, we just made contact with someone from the 20th Armored. Major Stanley and Lieutenant Feingold died crash-landing their L-5 with the radio in it.”
“Well, spit it out Watkins! What did Green have to say for himself and about his situation? Get him on the horn now!”
“Sir. We weren’t able to speak to General Green.”
“Well who did you speak to then? Don’t make me keep asking questions, you moron! Tell me the whole story!”
“Sir? Yes sir. It seems that we made contact with a Private Lars Johnson, and he was under fire the entire time the conversation took place. He said that General Green and his staff were cut off and had possibly been captured while checking on the Soviet units attacking to their south. He also mentioned that the ‘supply guys’ were in trouble as well. We can only assume he meant the 49th Quartermaster Brigade. As I said before, he was under fire in the crashed plane, and didn’t have much time to explain. He asked about an escape route towards the east and a town named Vigeois. The operations officer on duty made an on-the-spot decision, due to the precarious nature of Private Johnson’s situation. He told the private to tell his command to use the Pershings in a rear-guard delaying action. Once done, the remainder of the command was to abandon and burn the tanks, heading on foot east, towards Vigeois, then south to Objat. After that, the radio went dead sir.”
General Bradley’s demeanor changes abruptly and completely, as he realizes that the fate of the remains of an entire infantry division now hinges on a private soldier, who may or may not now be dead, and softly exclaims, “Jesus Christ…”
Outside Washington, D.C.
Lunch Room E
July 25th
11:53 hours
“I just heard about the 20th Armored Division being cut off. What’s the latest news?”
“We’ve got nothing solid on the 20th itself, but a good portion of the 49th Quartermaster Brigade, and we’ve estimated that over seventy-five percent of its supplies were captured. Over a million gallons of fuel and tons of freshly-shipped supplies, are now in the Reds’ hands. Plus they got over twenty-five hundred new deuce-and-a-half’s, and now we’re without our expert logistics specialists, and a shit-load of experienced grease-monkeys. They’ve really sucker-punched us with this one. Losing the bulk of the 49th Quartermasters is worse than losing the entire 20th Armored in my opinion.”
“Jesus! What was Green thinking? I suppose that he just wanted to get his boys some real combat time on his terms. He wasn’t looking at the big picture, and we got screwed. Christ Almighty, it hurts just thinking about all those brand-new Pershing tanks, and Wolfhound armored cars, the Ivans destroyed or captured.”
“I heard those Pershings aren’t doing so well. The complaints are coming in hot and heavy about how unreliable and underpowered they are. They can’t get where they need to go fast enough and when they finally do they don’t do so hot once they get there. They’ve got to be better than the Shermans though. At least they can take a hit or two, before blowing up. Gives the crew a chance to fight back or escape, if need be.”
“Well, the Reds are damned sure going to be celebrating tonight. They’re going to have a lot of our equipment to study and test. I wish we could get our hands on some of those new Soviet jobs. I heard the JS-2 is a monster, and the T-44 can take a beating. The T-34 is still creating most of our headaches though. Man those things are fast and tough! I wish we had a few hundred of them.”
London, U.K.
“Well what’s the butcher’s bill Tom?”
“We’ve been able to gather about 4,967 survivors of the 20th so far. Most of their equipment is lost, and the men are dragging ass. It seems the Reds really did a number on them. This is their Kasserine Pass sir.” General Bradley winces at the reference, and his anger boils over.