JACKAL

A peculiar encounter

August, 1944. The skies over Normandy were grey and dreary. It hadn't rained yet the atmosphere felt thick enough for it to be bucketing. A nearby dirt road had been mid-calf deep in mud with lush, green hedgerows on both sides of the road. Tank treads had been engraved into the pavement, yet there hadn't been any tanks in sight. In the hedgerows, a man in green attire had scanned the area like a vulture. This man was Oswald Simmons. The two bronze bars on either side of his jacket indicated he was an officer in the U.S. Army, the triangle patch on his left shoulder revealed he was part of the 2nd Armored Division. 

After glaring at the landscape a while longer, he scratched his greased ginger hair and left the hedgerows and into a clearing. The clearing had tread marks in the soil indicating the presence of AFV activity in the area. Nine corpses of German soldiers had been strut across the field, riddled with bullets. The way they were laid about looked like they were trying to retreat into a nearby forest. Simmons had walked across the field towards a seemingly abandoned tank.

The tank was an American M4A1 76mm Sherman tank measuring nine feet tall. She had two jerry cans strapped to the bow along with a suspension wheel and a wooden crate with the letter K. Four rhino teeth at the hull, welded on. Camouflage netting had hung from the tank's long barrel with wiring to keep the netting from falling off. On the sides of the tank hung canvas field bags presumably belonging to the crew. On the left side of the tank was white text that read "JACKAL". 

Simmons had grabbed onto a handle at the tail of the tank on the side. Putting his foot on the suspension, he hoisted himself aboard the tank. The rubber heels of his boots had clanked against the metal surface. Shovels, tow cables, axe handles, axes, pickaxes, and two more wooden crates lay on the back of the tank. The turret had track armor on the sides and an m2 browning .50 caliber machine gun on a pedestal on the back of the turret. Engraved on the back of the turret were the names of the crew members. Stepping over the equipment and luggage, Simmons had opened the hatch to the cupola on the right side of the turret and dropped into the tank.

The inside of the tank was dark, filthy, and above all claustrophobic. Any free space was filled with ammunition for the cannon. Metal canteens, binoculars, and gun holsters hung near crew positions. Simmons had entered the turret basket, a cylindrical cage where the main gun had been and one of the two compartments of the tank. The other compartment was the bow, the front of the tank occupied by the driver and bow gunner. 

To the right of the cannon breach was the Gunner of the tank, Anthony Ross who had been reading Hemingway. He wore an opened fleece lined tanker jacket showing his brown leather shoulder holster underneath, identical to the one Simmons had worn outside his jacket. Pinned up at his position was a photo of his beloved wife on their wedding day. The two arrows on his sleeves indicated his ranking as a corporal. 

Wedged in the battery compartment was Manfred Morales, the loader of the tank. Morales was a big burly man from the south sporting a green tank-top, cowhide leather gloves, and a opened fleece lined tanker jacket identical to the very one Ross had worn with the sleeves rolled up. His jacket had two arrows on the sleeves with a T underneath meaning his rank was technician fifth grade. He was currently in the process of fixing a short fuse that was blown when the driver had pushed the engine too far.

In the driver's seat was Heinrich Low, the driver of the metal beast. Low was a first-generation German and the second oldest of the crew. His blonde hair had been riddled with dirt to the point it was visible to others. His jacket hung off his seat as he was fast asleep in his chair. The arrows on his mustard brown button up shirt had indicated he was a corporal just like Ross. 

To the right of Low,  Orville Frederickson, the assistant driver and bow gunner, had drawn away in his sketchbook. Orville was the youngest of the crew being 17 years of age. Like the rest of the crew, the dirt on his face was visible to eyes. He was the only member of the crew to wear the canvas leggings you'd see a soldier wear. Orville and Simmons had been the only two in the tank to wear green fatigues. At this time, Simmons would drop into the tank, closing the hatch behind him with a clank.