Rickie's War: North Africa

Into the Fray

When we entered the bombed out town, all I could’ve seen were ruined buildings and fallen bricks. The town’s paved roads had been outrightly destroyed, and not a single building stood up perfectly. All were either ruined completely or standing with half of its top cut off. However, what surprised me was I didn’t see any dead Germans. Assuming the best possibility, I thought most of the dead men were buried under the rocks.

A section of M4 General Sherman medium tanks moved into the tattered town of Cassino. Nothing was left of the town’s infrastructure. It was all ruined buildings and roads filled with bricks. Even the Shermans had a slight problem in advancing. 4 Section was at the spearhead of the attack, advancing alongside the New Zealand tank section. Rickie Avraamss and Derrick Milburrow walked at front, walking over what were once buildings and roads. Possibly people, too. The rest of the section were behind them. Joe Sugg was alert, and newbies Charlie Gerrard and Luke McLafferty had feels going up and down their back. Rickie scanned the perimeters. Left, right, and up. There was nothing left.

Somewhere on their right, just beyond the tanks, was Sergeant Douglas Hart with parts of 3 Section advancing behind him. Next to the sergeant was Lieutenant Williamson, his officer commanding. Douglas Hart was once a member of the Cameron Highlanders until volunteer units down south needed some experienced NCOs to lead their men. His first assignment with the unit was like most, in North Africa; but his experience had ranged since before the war. He started as a squaddie with the highlanders anyway, and climbed up the ranks. His experience in His Majesty’s Army was 8 years and counting, with much more to come from this highly-decorated soldier.

He was a stereotypical NCO; he had big arms, he had a strong jaw, and he carried a Thompson like a toy gun. To the men, he was a man to look up to. A model soldier; at least in the terms of fighting. He was a heavy smoker, and he had lost plenty of friends through the years. It was difficult to cope with lost friends but he never let his state of mind to get in his responsibility. Either way, he was the best soldier in Captain Charlton’s Killer Company.

He looked at the situation in front of him. It was quiet. A bit too quiet. They had advanced about 800 meters into the city’s ruins, and yet, there was not a single German; dead or alive. It was rather weird; he asked himself, Have they retreated? No. Impossible. Not that fast. We even got shelled on the way.

“A bit too quiet, don’t you think, sergeant?” asked Lieutenant Williamson.

“A bit too quiet than I would like sir.” He replied, his Thompson submachinegun in his hands. “Makes me uncomfortable when I don’t know what’s happening, sir.”

“Don’t us all, sergeant.”

Then, it happened. A sneering voice echoed from the distance; it echoed hard, for the sound was equally hard, and how it punctured a man’s bone was twice as hard and three times as deadly. Everybody could hear it except for one soldier.

Zing! It went pass Sergeant Hart like something he had never seen but he had often heard at the same time. Then followed the cracking sound of metal hitting bone. Sergeant Hart turned his head and saw the lieutenant was down in an ever growing puddle of blood, his hand holding a part of his shoulder. Out of reflex, the sergeant yelled: “Sniper! Take cover!”

As if synchronized, the whole forward platoon either went behind the tanks or behind the ruined houses. Then another large sound was heard in the distance. It sounded like nothing else. Everybody knew it was a rocket. Psshhhh! It went, a metal bullet with wings flying in the cloudless Italian sky, spinning with a white tail following right behind it. Nothing could be done, as the rocket hit the turret of the front tank. It exploded on impact, blowing an upper part of the tank away. The tank burst into flames, and the crew struggled to come out.