“Boomer has a gung-ho bog who will be very pleased, sir.” Not to mention its commander, who wished his dad were here to see it.
Whitley showed them the map he had on his clipboard. “This here’s Oran, here’s us, and here’s the main strategic route. The plan is simple. We’re going straight into the city and driving for General Boissau’s HQ, here. The Alligators will follow and seize the port. Then Cat Company and the tank destroyers will grab the rest of the key installations. We’ll have the doughs with us to watch our backs, and we’ll have air and arty on call. Boomer then Betty, Boxer, Buckshot, and Bull.”
“Any word on gasoline?” Dunlap said. “We’ll make it to the objective, but only barely.”
“No resupply until Oran is ours,” Whitley told his tank commanders. “If we want to eat, we have to take the city. Any other questions?”
Austin pulled his helmet over his cropped head. It was crap, but what else was new? “It’ll be duck soup, sir.” An easy job.
“Let’s hope for that and plan for the worst. Well, this is it. We take Oran and we’re done. The limeys will be able to attack Rommel in the rear and clear the Axis out of North Africa. Then we go to France and then Berlin.”
The sergeants grinned, no doubt picturing a nice, long leave in Oran at the end of this. Good food, plenty of wine, and the attentions of French women. As for Austin, he envisioned invading France.
The lieutenant inspected his watch. “Get your tanks ready, gentlemen. We’re rolling at 0900.”
Cocker offered his paw to Austin along with a lopsided smile. “Good luck, John. We’ll be right behind you.”
Austin shook the man’s hand. “You too, Barney.”
He returned to Boomer to find his crew hard at work and getting along. It was a welcome change of pace. Regardless of how they might feel about each other, they were all growing to love their M4. They clambered like monkeys over the tank with their grease guns and wrenches, lubing the bogie wheels, tightening bolts on the track links, and topping up on heavy oil and radiator fluid.
“How’s the track?” he asked Russo.
“Good and tight, Boss. Batteries and fluids are good. No luck scoring gasoline.”
“We’ll have to make do.”
“We greased the main gun and tested the firing breech,” Wade chimed in. “I think it’ll behave next time we have to shoot. We even adjusted the sights and quadrants.”
“Outstanding,” Austin said. Maybe his little speech last night had motivated them to get their heads on straight. “We’re on the move in twenty. The whole battalion is assaulting the city, and we’re going in first.”
They gathered around at this news. Russo whistled.
“What’s the objective?” Wade asked.
“General Boissau’s HQ. We capture him, we can end this now, and then we’re looking at garrison duty until they send us to France.”
“I’ll fight for that,” Swanson said.
Wade said, “Any idea on what’s waiting for us between here and there?”
“The intel says it’s clear all the way to Oran, but it’s yesterday’s news,” Austin answered. “Battalion is going to push out a recon element ahead of us to scout the road. We won’t be bombarding the city, but we’ll have air and arty support on call.”
“Why aren’t we bombing the city first?” Clay said, jawing his Wrigley’s.
Russo scoffed. “Because they’re our allies, numbnuts.”
“Why,” Swanson said. “I think that should be your new nickname.”
Austin sighed. His crew’s armistice hadn’t lasted long.
Clay tossed his hands in frustration. “It just feels funny fighting these people with one hand tied behind our back. I appreciate they’re our allies and all, but they’re trying to kill us.”
“There’s no need to risk killing civilians without solid intel,” Austin said. “We want these guys fighting on our side and killing Germans in the future. Every German they kill is one less shooting at us. Is everybody clear on what we’re doing here? Any other questions?”
He had no takers.
“Good. Now get ready. We’ll be mounting up soon.”
Just enough time to write a letter home to his wife and infant son, Rex. Writing to them made him feel the comfort of home while also making him homesick. It filled him with dread at the thought of dying. Without his family, Austin would have gladly given his life for his country, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them on their own.
He was getting through this. He’d make it home to look Uncle Sam in the eye and say, I fought for you. And he’d be able to take a knee and tell his growing boy, I fought for the world that will be yours.
In the letter, Austin told Marcy again he loved her and to give his son a warm hug. Love, John. He pocketed the letter and checked his watch. The time was 0855.
“Boomer, mount up!”
Across the tank park, crews tore down and rolled camouflage netting. Drivers hand-cranked their engines and climbed in to start ignition. The cool morning air filled with the growls and snorts of dozens of manmade monsters.
“Bears 3 Actual to Bears 3,” the lieutenant said over the radio, his voice tinny. “Let’s roll. Bears 3-5, take us out.”
“Tip of the spear,” Austin said and keyed his radio to INT. “You heard the man, gentlemen. Driver, move out. Loader, once we’re in the clear, load a round of HE.” High explosive. “Gunner, note the gun will be loaded. Time to button up.”
The crew responded with a flurry of roger and wilco.
Belching a stream of exhaust, Boomer growled forward smoothly on its treads. Russo navigated between the idling tanks and hit the road.
“It sure is nice being first in line,” the driver said.
Swanson emerged from his hatch and checked out the scenery. “Nothing but clear views and fresh air up here, Wisenheimer.”
“Christ!” Wade called out. “You’re an animal, Mad Dog!”
The loader grinned at Austin. “I cut a nasty fart in there. One of my C ration specials.”
Austin elbowed him.
“Hey, now! What’d you do that for?”
The commander elbowed him again. Swanson was a big, muscular ogre and confused vendetta with hobby, but Austin didn’t care. “I warned you. We’re rolling into a combat zone. Don’t start pulling your crap.”
“You don’t want to start with me—”
“Get back to your station, or I’ll knock you down there.”
“All right, all right. Shit.” Swanson retreated down the hatch.
“Injun country,” Austin told his crew. “Eyes sharp all around.”
Nothing much to see yet. The city was a purple haze in the distance. To the west, green fields unfolded to a great salt lake. Beyond lay a series of hills, which he kept an eye on, because that was where he’d place antitank guns if he were French. The sun warmed his shaven face even as the chilly wind stiffened it.
The first thing he noticed as the column rumbled toward the city was the quiet. Not a good sign. Then again, if a column of French tanks rolled into his hometown of Scranton, PA, he’d close the shutters and lock the doors too.
He felt the weight of the Revolutionary War bullet in his pocket and wished his dad could see him now, invading an African city. Boomer passed vineyards and copses of fragrant pepper, fig, and syringa trees.
“Obstacle in the road ahead,” Russo said. “I don’t see a way around.”
Austin raised his binoculars to take in wood roadblocks and sandbag emplacements, all unmanned. “Uh-huh. Drive right through it.”
“Oh, yeah. My pleasure.”
Boomer’s thirty tons smashed the barricades and chewed them to splinters.