A Thoughtful Christmas Gift
Copyright© 2025 by Paladin_HGWT
Chapter 2: Becoming Part of the Third Herd
Camp of the 82nd Airborne Division, near Reims, France
1015 Hours (Local) [10:15 AM] Sunday, 17 December, 1944
I stepped into the headquarters of Fox Company, set down my rucksack and duffel bag, then asked the Company Clerk, “Where may I find the First Sergeant?”
The Private First Class said, “First Sergeant Brooks is–”
First Sergeant Brooks interrupted, “Come over to my desk, I’m in for you, Sergeant Hamlin. I told Johnson that I am not in until noon.”
I handed the First Sergeant my orders and said, “Sergeant Hamlin reporting as ordered. These are my only copy of my orders.”
First Sergeant Brooks said, “Sit down. It’s the Lord’s day, and should be a day of rest. Besides, you’ve been in the Regiment longer than I have. No need to be formal if we aren’t in front of the troops, or officers.”
The First Sergeant glanced at my orders, then said, “Johnson type two copies of these orders. One for our files, and another for Battalion.”
Turning back to me, First Sergeant Brooks said, “This couldn’t wait until Monday? Not that it is a problem. We are short of veteran Non-Commissioned Officers. Although you were just promoted to Sergeant. Well, I know your background. Or, at least most of it.”
I said, “I don’t know much for certain, but I do think it is prudent for me to get to know my squad and the chain of command soonest. Major Schorzman called me into his office, and not just to rehash old transgressions. I believe he deliberately let me see that Regiment was burning the midnight oil. I had just come back from a three day pass, and there is no obvious reason that this could not have waited till Monday. Also, they had supply perform an urgent inventory last night. I don’t know if we have any actual orders, but Headquarters is getting prepared.”
First Sergeant Brooks lit a cigarette, and said, “I’ve been keeping my ear to the jungle telegram too. Nothing concrete, but I think that we may be put on alert in the next seventy-two hours. At chow this morning the Battalion Sergeant Major mentioned that the replacements we were expecting tomorrow should arrive before noon. You hear anything else?”
I paused for a moment, then said, “Again, I don’t know for certain, and I wouldn’t mention it to the Joes1 but there are indications of an abnormally large counter-attack developing on the Belgium-German border area, between Monshau and Saint Vith.”
First Sergeant Brooks didn’t seem surprised, but he said, “I don’t know where that is.”
I said, “uh, it is south of the Buchenwald, in the Ardennes forest. Not quite as nasty terrain. The Germans sent their Fourth and Firth Armies through there in nineteen-fourteen. Woods, hills, ridges, streams, and a couple of rivers stretch from Aachen, all through southern Belgium, most of Luxembourg, and the bordering areas of Germany and France, down to the Meuse-Argonne where the American Expeditionary Force fought in nineteen-eighteen. That area is on the right flank of Patton’s Third Army.”
After a moment I said, “That is the area that the Germans sent their Blitz in nineteen-forty. Four of their Panzer Divisions, and at least a dozen Infantry Divisions, some of them motorized. Most of them marched, and had horse drawn artillery.”
First Sergeant Brooks said, “I saw the newsreels back then. They didn’t have those details...”
I shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
First Sergeant gave me the eye, but than said in a mild tone, “Arnold Lisle was a Private First Class when we jumped onto the Groosbeek Heights. After we crossed the Waal Canal in small boats to secure that damn bridge in Ninjmegan, he was their assistant squad leader. We lost a lot of good men there! Lisle received a battlefield promotion to Corporal. Less than ten days later he became their Squad Leader, and has been ever since. We believe he has Earned a promotion to Sergeant, and to remain their squad Leader.”
Brooks paused, the continued, “It seems that Battalion, or Regiment doesn’t agree. He is a good soldier, and a good man. Give him the respect he has earned.”
I said, “I didn’t ask for this duty. I am just a soldier, and I follow orders to the best of my ability.”
First Sergeant Brooks nodded, then said, “You were a Platoon sergeant back in forty-three.”
I said, “Just an Acting Platoon Sergeant, and not in combat. I have been just a Team Leader in the Intelligence and Reconnaissance Platoon for the last sixteen months.”
First Sergeant Brooks lit another cigarette, and said, “Technical Sergeant Coffey was a Squad Leader in Third Platoon when we jumped onto the Groosbeek Heights. As I said before we lost a lot of good men during that Market Garden debacle, including the Third Platoon Sergeant, and their Platoon Guide. Coffey got promoted about a month ago, but he has been their Platoon Sergeant since those men fell in battle. We expect you to advise us based upon your experience, but Technical Sergeant Coffey is your superior.”
“Crystal clear First Sergeant!” I said.
First Sergeant Brooks took a drag on his cigarette, held it, then blew out a smoke ring, but said nothing, so I asked, “Should I see the Company Commander now?”
A few seconds passed, then a voice said, “Come into my office Sergeant Hamlin.”
It was just a few steps to get to the adjacent room, before I could snap to attention a man wearing slippers, baggy M1943 ‘paratrooper’ trousers, with numerous pockets, and a brown 5-button G.I. sweater; he was holding an unlit cigar in his hands; he said, “Have a seat Sergeant Hamlin. Welcome to Fox Company. I’m Lieutenant Miles. I was a Platoon Leader in Charlie Company on Sicily, and Salerno. I was assigned as the Executive Officer after Italy. By the second day of Market Garden I was the Company Commander.”
First Lieutenant Miles continued, “there’s times and places for formality and ceremony. This ain’t one of em. First Sergeant Brooks laid things out. He, your Platoon Leader Second Lieutenant Kellogg, and myself are delighted to have a combat veteran such as yourself join our illustrious band. However, we believed that Corporal Lisle should be the First Squad Leader in the Third Platoon. The Powers That Be decided differently. Now all of us have to soldier on. Do you have any questions of me?”
I said, “No Sir. The Regimental Sergeant Major told me to inform you that I can speak both French and German.”
Before I could tell him the rest of what the Sergeant Major told me to, Lieutenant Miles asked, “How well do you speak either language? And, how did you come by those talents?”
I said, “My mother is Alsatian, she was born in Strasbourg. She met my father in Paris soon after the Armistice. They got married in Paris, and I was born there. We moved to my father’s home in Colorado, but I grew up speaking English, French, and German, although less common dialects of both French and German. In school I was taught both Hoch Deutcsh, high German, and Parisian French. I got to practice my French during a partial year attending the Sorbonne for part of a year.”
Lieutenant Miles gave me a hard look, and asked, “Why did you quit?”
I told him, “I didn’t quit. They canceled classes in mid May nineteen-forty when the Nazis broke through the Ardennes and routed the French and British.”
He nodded, and said, “I don’t truck with quitters. Don’t mean I expect suicidal persistence. Sometimes a soldier has to make a tactical withdrawal, or look for a vulnerable flank instead of a frontal assault. I’ve seen more guys shot in the back, than shot in the front. Ours and theirs. Better to make a fighting withdrawal, if it is absolutely necessary. If you fall back, its likely to be even harder to attack the objective the next day.”
I leaned forward and said quietly, “Sir, the Sergeant Major told me to tell just you that I could probably understand the locals in Belgium and the Luxembourg. He emphasized that I should mention those two only to you. I don’t know why, and I don’t think I should speculate.”
Lieutenant Miles sat still for a moment, his eyes distant, then he said, “Do you speak and understand Dutch?”
I said, “Dutch is significantly different from German, but I seem to have a knack for languages. During our time in the Netherlands, I got so that I could understand the gist of what the locals said, and make myself understood. I am far from fluent, but it sufficed for my duties with the I&R Platoon. Ask about the presence of Germans, road conditions, and trade for food, arrange a place for us to be quartered.”
Lieutenant Miles said, “I too have heard about increased activities on the Belgian-German border. However, we are currently attached to the Canadian Second Corps, the Canadians suffered significant casualties clearing the Scheldt Estuary. The British are even worse off in terms of lacking infantry replacements. So, we could be sent back up to Holland, excuse me, the Netherlands. We have several guys who speak a bit of German, I, and a couple of other understand some French. We mostly had to depend upon the Dutch who understood some English for anything other than rudimentary communications.”
“We could speculate endlessly about what might happen, and likely something different will happen. So, prepare your squad for combat. Whenever. Report to your Platoon Leader. Welcome to Fox Company.” First Lieutenant Miles said, then he leaned forward and offered his hand, and we shook.
Once I had stepped out of the Company Commander’s room, I stood in the doorway of the First Sergeant’s room, and asked him where I might find Lieutenant Kellogg. Turned out that he and Lieutenant Johnson shared a room upstairs. Unlike a standard Infantry Platoon, in the Airborne each Infantry Platoon has a slot in the TO&E (Table of Organization & Equipment) for an Assistant Platoon Leader. Partly because of probable casualties, but mostly because we often get scattered on a parachute assault. Ideally all paratroopers should demonstrate initiative, but even though the 82nd Airborne is the most veteran division of paratroopers in the US Army, it has existed for barely more than two years. An army of draftees, the US Army depended upon junior officers more than most European armies.
At the top of the stairs I followed the directions of Top, and knocked on the doorjamb, since the door was open, and said, “Lieutenant Kellogg. I am Sergeant Hamlin. I have been assigned to lead the First Squad in your platoon. Lieutenant Miles ordered me to report you. Sir.”
The house was warm, uncomfortably so because I was still wearing my mackinaw; both men were in their shirt-sleeves, one, I premed was Lt. Johnson kept play solitaire, the other stopped writing, put down and turned to fully face me, and said, “I’m the Third Platoon Leader. We were not expecting a replacement Non-Commissioned Officer. Where did you come from? Do you have any experience?”
Lt. Johnson stopped playing cards, and looked at me as I spoke to Lt. Kellogg, “I joined the US Army in the summer of nineteen-forty, and volunteered for the paratroopers as soon as I could. I was assigned to the Five-oh-second Parachute Battalion, and then as part of the cadre for the Five-oh-fourth Battalion, that became the Regiment. In nineteen-forty-three I was assigned to the Intelligence and Reconnaissance Platoon, and served with them until yesterday. I was promoted to Corporal while we were still on Sicily, due to our losses during Operation Husky. I was promoted to Sergeant yesterday.”
While I had been speaking, I had handed my copy of my orders to Lieutenant Kellogg; PFC Johnson had returned them to me, after he made the copes that the First Sergeant had ordered; Lt. Kellogg glanced at my orders, then said, “You were just promoted to Sergeant, and they made you an Infantry Squad Leader? Do you have any infantry experience?”
I said, “I was a Tactics Instructor as a Corporal, back in ‘forty-one. I was a Squad Leader, and promoted to Sergeant in forty-two. I was even an acting Platoon Sergeant for a bit. I was busted down in rank for a fight I was in.”
Second Lieutenant Kellogg face was pinched when he proclaimed, “You do not habitually partake of spirituous liquors, or beer, in excess do you Sergeant Hamlin?”
As blandly as possible, I said, “No sir. I do enjoy wine or beer with a good meal. I also enjoy an occasional cognac, brandy, or scotch. But, I do not enjoy getting drunk. I have tied one on, on occasion. Never on duty. I was not drunk, in fact I had not consumed any alcohol at all when I got in that fight. I took my punishment, and have done my duty ever since. Major Schorzman personally spoke to me yesterday about the incident, before I was given my orders and promotion.”
Lieutenant Kellogg intently looked at me while I answered, then he said, “Welcome to Third Platoon. All of Fox Company is enjoying a day of rest, just as the good Lord intended. Go meet your squad. Please let Corporal Lisle know before you tell the rest of the squad. Dismissed.”
When I got back downstairs, I set down my ‘Tommy’ gun, took off my webbing, and mackinaw, and set them upon my rucksack, and duffel bag, and then asked, “Private First Class Johnson, would you please go ask Corporal Lisle to come here. Lieutenant Kellogg ordered me to speak to him before I take charge of his squad.”
The Company Clerk looked at me, and took a moment before he said, “Yes. Sergeant.”
PFC Johnson was gone for more than five minutes, but in less than ten minutes he came back leading who I presumed was Corporal Lisle; not the least because of the two chevrons on his sleeves, he said, “I’m Corporal Lisle. Who are you?”
I offered my had to shake, and he accepted, as I said, “I’m Sergeant Harry Hamlin. I just reported to Lieutenant Miles, Lieutenant Kellogg, and First Sergeant Brooks. They all have a good opinion of you, and recommended you for promotion. Unfortunately, I am the bearer of bad news. Regiment has assigned me to become the First Squad Leader in the Third Platoon.”
Corporal Lisle frowned, and then asked, “What happens to me?”
I said, “I don’t know. No one has told me anything about you, other than you are a good soldier. Typically, when they promote a man from the ranks, they assign him to a different company, sometimes a different battalion. Until then you will be my assistant squad leader. I will appreciate your full support, and your knowledge of the men in the first squad. You deserve to be treated with respect for your accomplishments. However, I am now the Squad Leader. Understand.”
His shoulders slumped, but Corporal Lisle said, “Yes Sergeant.”
I started putting on my mackinaw and other gear, while I said, “Let’s step outside, while we talk about the Squad.”
Corporal Lisle led me out the back door, and said, “First Platoon and the enlisted personnel from headquarters are in that barn over there. Second Platoon, and Third Herd are in the other barn.”
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