Doug Barrie’s Patrol by Zen Karp (excerpt from H.L.I. and WWII)
Doug Barrie’s Patrol
12 June
D Day plus 6
Lieutenant Doug Barrie took up the rifle as an afterthought; his mind heavily preoccupied with the details of his first mission ever issued to him in war. He was, on this very evening, to take selected men from his platoon forward and capture a prisoner for interrogation. Higher headquarters was insisting on prisoners as proof that the line battalions were doing what Montgomery had ordered: "to take on the defense, but aggressively so..."
Already there were feelings of cynicism toward such demands by higher command. There was even a certain officer commanding of another battalion who had a barn full of prisoners captured early in the invasion. He would send back one or two a day to keep the generals happy.
The mission reminded Doug of certain exercises back in England, when companies pitted against each other would encourage the troops to capture the "enemy" company commander as a prize.
Now, in the real war, Doug didn't feel the same boyish excitement. They were not two separate camps of youths raiding each other; it was an enemy who would kill them given half the chance. Indeed, a snatch patrol was a dangerous undertaking.
But it was his mission, and after it had been dark for hours, Lt. Doug Barrie slithered forward first into no man's land. In his hands he clutched the rifle of a man who was no longer in the platoon after becoming a casualty.
The distance was covered by crawling. Through the field of short, unripe wheat which helped to conceal them, the men of #16 Platoon snaked in a single file closer and closer to their enemy. The complete blackness of the night was often interrupted by the flash of exploding shells in the distance, followed up a second or two later by a low resonant karump. Lying on the ground, #16 Platoon could feel every impact.
Upon reaching the outskirts of Buron, the patrol could hear they were close to a work party in progress; the sound of digging with picks and shovels to a soldier is unmistakable.
Doug was in the lead, with Ben behind him, his most trusted section commander; SMG in hand. Now came the trickiest part of actually snatching one or a group of these Germans. Somewhere out there, Doug knew there must be Germans on watch, it was reasonable to suspect an MG-42 would be covering their digging kameraden. It was reasonable to suspect that a single flare would illuminate his exposed platoon and they would be cut to pieces in the open.
Suddenly, a silhouette approached the group, walking forward as if curiously inspecting something seen or heard, then, at a distance of a mere few feet, froze.
"Hand hoch"
Doug ordered the well practiced phrase to his enemy. Maybe this lone man would do, if the next seconds went his way.
After a momentary pause of shock, the German produced a stick grenade and held it to his front. One hand grasped the stick while the other on the short arming cord. If this German pulled the cord, the grenade would explode in seconds, which would only be the start of his troubles; any pitched firefight between his platoon and a regiment of Germans would not likely go his way.
Aiming at the center of the body, Doug thumbed the safety off of his rifle and squeezed the trigger with a practiced finger...click...the rifle was empty.
Quickly, he rolled over to one side as fast as he could, giving his number one sergeant a clear shot.
"Let him have it, Ben!"
A tight burst of 9mm tore into the silhouette, which was knocked back and fell lifeless to the ground. No explosion, and no more sounds of digging. Complete nerve racking silence as two groups of enemy realized they were practically in arms reach of each other.
Recomposed, Doug whispered back to the patrol to stay low.
It was only after 10 long minutes that #16 Platoon ever so daintily crept back into the wheat field, and when they made sufficient distance, crawled much quicker toward their own lines. They arrived empty handed, but it was more important to arrive without casualties.
Doug's rifle, which had no ammunition in it, was a spare rifle which had belonged to someone else who was not so lucky. In a matter of weeks, there would be many more spare rifles in his platoon.
12 June
D Day plus 6
Lieutenant Doug Barrie took up the rifle as an afterthought; his mind heavily preoccupied with the details of his first mission ever issued to him in war. He was, on this very evening, to take selected men from his platoon forward and capture a prisoner for interrogation. Higher headquarters was insisting on prisoners as proof that the line battalions were doing what Montgomery had ordered: "to take on the defense, but aggressively so..."
Already there were feelings of cynicism toward such demands by higher command. There was even a certain officer commanding of another battalion who had a barn full of prisoners captured early in the invasion. He would send back one or two a day to keep the generals happy.
The mission reminded Doug of certain exercises back in England, when companies pitted against each other would encourage the troops to capture the "enemy" company commander as a prize.
Now, in the real war, Doug didn't feel the same boyish excitement. They were not two separate camps of youths raiding each other; it was an enemy who would kill them given half the chance. Indeed, a snatch patrol was a dangerous undertaking.
But it was his mission, and after it had been dark for hours, Lt. Doug Barrie slithered forward first into no man's land. In his hands he clutched the rifle of a man who was no longer in the platoon after becoming a casualty.
The distance was covered by crawling. Through the field of short, unripe wheat which helped to conceal them, the men of #16 Platoon snaked in a single file closer and closer to their enemy. The complete blackness of the night was often interrupted by the flash of exploding shells in the distance, followed up a second or two later by a low resonant karump. Lying on the ground, #16 Platoon could feel every impact.
Upon reaching the outskirts of Buron, the patrol could hear they were close to a work party in progress; the sound of digging with picks and shovels to a soldier is unmistakable.
Doug was in the lead, with Ben behind him, his most trusted section commander; SMG in hand. Now came the trickiest part of actually snatching one or a group of these Germans. Somewhere out there, Doug knew there must be Germans on watch, it was reasonable to suspect an MG-42 would be covering their digging kameraden. It was reasonable to suspect that a single flare would illuminate his exposed platoon and they would be cut to pieces in the open.
Suddenly, a silhouette approached the group, walking forward as if curiously inspecting something seen or heard, then, at a distance of a mere few feet, froze.
"Hand hoch"
Doug ordered the well practiced phrase to his enemy. Maybe this lone man would do, if the next seconds went his way.
After a momentary pause of shock, the German produced a stick grenade and held it to his front. One hand grasped the stick while the other on the short arming cord. If this German pulled the cord, the grenade would explode in seconds, which would only be the start of his troubles; any pitched firefight between his platoon and a regiment of Germans would not likely go his way.
Aiming at the center of the body, Doug thumbed the safety off of his rifle and squeezed the trigger with a practiced finger...click...the rifle was empty.
Quickly, he rolled over to one side as fast as he could, giving his number one sergeant a clear shot.
"Let him have it, Ben!"
A tight burst of 9mm tore into the silhouette, which was knocked back and fell lifeless to the ground. No explosion, and no more sounds of digging. Complete nerve racking silence as two groups of enemy realized they were practically in arms reach of each other.
Recomposed, Doug whispered back to the patrol to stay low.
It was only after 10 long minutes that #16 Platoon ever so daintily crept back into the wheat field, and when they made sufficient distance, crawled much quicker toward their own lines. They arrived empty handed, but it was more important to arrive without casualties.
Doug's rifle, which had no ammunition in it, was a spare rifle which had belonged to someone else who was not so lucky. In a matter of weeks, there would be many more spare rifles in his platoon.
posted by scot at 12:25 PM
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