‘Sonofabitch’.
Brown laughed quietly and confided to no one in particular.
“You have to hand it to old Caesar but he sure as shit knows how to get his outfit comfy.”
Brennan could not disagree and turned back to examine the view, helpfully illuminated by some sustained lightning.
His mortar platoon had four 81mm mortars and four 60mm mortars, and each firing position was covered over with a watertight roof, some of which looked suspiciously like rubber dinghies, although the camouflage tended to disguise the shapes that the lightning tried hard to reveal.
Grinning mortar crews were observing his approach, one or two waving their commander into cover.
Criminals and thieves they may be, thought Brennan, but they are goddamn efficient.
He had the sudden vision of Captain Catesby of the 308th Engineers going mad looking for his equipment and somehow the thought made him grin widely, for he didn’t like the man personally.
He then became further distracted by a large irregular shape sat behind the positions.
If it were not for the green colour, he would have sworn it was the USO entertainment tent used by Jack Benny and Ingrid Bergmann some days back.
He took advantage of more of nature’s illumination and looked again.
It was.
‘Sonofabitch.’
Frazzoli chuckled, saluting Brennan.
“Guess I shouldn’t really see this, so I will take off back to the office Major.”
Brennan grinned and slapped his non-coms shoulder as he passed.
A mortar man in a long cape was pointing his Garand at them, determined to follow company standing orders, even if it meant keeping his CO out in the rain a few more seconds.
The niceties were observed and both officers ducked into the shelter, which from the inside could not have been anything else but the show tent.
“Sonofabitch!”
He hadn’t meant to say it aloud but it was too late now, he had been heard, as the grins of those warm and dry soldiers lying on warm dry beds attested to.
A cursory look around told him that everything soldierly had been attended to, from foot inspections through to weapons cleaning. The smell of cooking still hung in the air too, something that had been a disaster for his HQ group that evening.
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.
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.
A young sapper took his place, Garand rifle in hand, cape and helmet in position and to any distant observer looked pretty much the same as any other American doughboy in the storm.