Chapter 51 – The Battle of Cherbourg (Part 12)

When I walked into Lieutenant Colonel Major Langford's office, his face was still like thunder—dark, tight, and furious. He was pacing the room, cursing out Captain Morell with a steady stream of profanity. The rest of the staff officers in the command post didn't even dare breathe too loudly. The air was tense enough to cut with a bayonet, and I could feel my nerves tightening the moment I stepped in.

"Captain Carter," Major Langford snapped the moment he saw me, "what the hell is going on with your men? Why haven't you taken the damn city hall yet? Are two whole companies not enough to deal with a handful of Krauts?"

"Sir! The terrain around city hall is... a bit tricky," I said, moving quickly to the large tactical map at the center of the room and pointing at the area marked Hôtel de Ville. "The building's surrounded by tall structures on all sides. There's a plaza in the middle, and our main axis of assault comes from this direction. To take city hall, we'd have to cross an open square nearly five hundred meters wide—nothing but open ground, sir."

Major Langford clearly knew the terrain well. What he really wanted to hear was how the Germans were deployed. He frowned, impatient. "Get to the damn point."

"Yes, sir," I continued. "When we launched the attack, I opted for a flanking assault with a frontal diversion. We took the adjacent buildings on the sides to use them for cover and to suppress enemy fire from city hall. But what I didn't anticipate was how heavily the Krauts had fortified their left flank. They had machine guns, snipers, and AT teams all set up in crossfire formations. They completely locked down our approach."

Major Langford scowled. "The Germans don't have the manpower to turn every damn building into a fortress. Why didn't you use those structures to your advantage?"

"That was our initial plan," I said. "But they'd rigged most of the empty buildings with booby traps and mines. Under their suppressive fire, there was no way we could send in engineers to clear the path. So we had no choice but to charge straight into the meat grinder."

"How many men do you estimate are holding the place?"

"Roughly forty to fifty, sir. But they're not the biggest problem. The real issue is a new kind of tank the Germans are using. Its rate of fire is insane—about one shell every two or three seconds—and it punches through cover like a hot knife through butter. That thing's even more dangerous than their MG42s. Every time one of our men exposes themselves, that tank just lights them up. Most of the casualties on my side and on Captain Roberts' flank came from that damn thing. Sir, if we don't take it out, we're going to keep bleeding men."

"My intel suggests it's a modified version of the Wirbelwind self-propelled AA gun," Major Langford said thoughtfully. "Devastating, sure, but not meant to take on tanks."

"You're right, sir. The Germans seem to know its limits. That's why they've paired it with two concealed anti-tank guns. When Captain Roberts tried to take the tank out using our two supporting Shermans, the Germans ambushed them with both AT guns and an anti-tank team that came crawling out of the sewers. Roberts called in artillery, and we managed to knock out one of their AT guns, but the tank slipped away. They're treating that vehicle like a mobile fire support platform—protecting it like it's the crown jewel of their defense."

Major Langford's eyes narrowed. "So how do you plan on knocking it out?"

I pointed back to the map. "Sir, we've already taken the buildings on city hall's left flank. We've driven out the German infantry there, and they don't have the manpower to retake that ground. Once our armored reinforcements arrive, I propose we attack from the right—take the German strongpoints on that flank, box them in, and force them to retreat back toward city hall itself. That way, no matter how powerful that tank is, it won't have the room to maneuver or provide effective support."

Major Langford didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained on the map, then he said curtly, "And where the hell are your anti-tank guns in all this?"

I winced. "Sir, our two AT guns couldn't be pushed up front. The terrain wouldn't allow it. We've been using them for support fire against fortified enemy positions, but... between German snipers and MGs, rolling those guns forward would've been a suicide mission." I mumbled the last part, "We'd be marching straight into a slaughterhouse."

Major Langford shot me a look but didn't comment on my muttering. He finally said, "Captain Carter, I know the Rangers are one of the finest units in the Army. But even elite units can't afford to throw men's lives away. If you don't have a clear shot at a target, don't take it. I won't harp on this failed push, but I expect you to take city hall with the lowest possible casualties. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And send me a report on your unit's casualties. We need to get fresh blood in the ranks before we start losing effectiveness due to manpower shortages."

"Yes, sir." I was just about to turn and leave when Major Langford hit me with something unexpected.

"What would you say if I assigned Miller to your company?"

I froze. There was no expression on Major Langford 's face—no hint of what he was thinking.

"I… uh… Sir, I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said hesitantly. My first thought was that Miller must've pissed Major Langford off somehow and was being shipped off to the front lines as punishment. Either that, or he was being groomed to replace me. But if it were the latter, I probably wouldn't still be in charge. No, I figured it had to be the former.

"Why not?" Major Langford asked evenly.

"Well, sir," I said, carefully, "Miller's your adjutant. He's a staff officer with the rank of captain. Unless I step aside, there's no way I can expect him to take orders from me."

"That won't be a problem," Major Langford said flatly. "He'll report to you when he returns. You'll take him to your company and assign him command of a platoon."

"Sir… did Miller do something to upset you?" I asked, walking a tightrope between curiosity and caution.

Major Langford gave me a long look. I had the distinct feeling he could see straight through me. But all he said was, "Miller has real potential. It's time he got out from behind a desk and proved what he can do on the battlefield." Then he waved me out of the room like he was shooing a fly.

They say rank has its privileges—and its weight. Langford might've been promoted to lieutenant colonel, but the Rangers didn't have a big enough structure to change his role; he was still our battalion-level commander and my immediate superior. Getting dismissed like that rubbed me the wrong way, even if I knew he probably didn't mean anything by it.

I waited outside for a bit. Eventually, Miller came walking back with his head down, clearly lost in thought.

"Hey, Miller!" I pulled him aside to a quiet spot. "Did you piss off the lieutenant colonel or something?"

"What? No—why?" He looked confused.

"You just got reassigned."

"What do you mean, reassigned?" Miller blinked. "No one told me anything."

"Major Langford's sending you to my company. You're going to command a platoon—and yes, you're taking orders from me."

He stared at me, stunned. I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. The front lines weren't exactly the safest career move. Staff officers usually bent over backwards to stay behind the lines. On the front, bullets don't care what rank you wear.

"Are you serious?" he asked, and to my surprise, his face lit up.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I put my hand on his forehead. "You running a fever or something?"

Miller chuckled and tilted his head away. "I asked Major Langford a while ago to send me to a line unit. Didn't expect him to say yes so fast."

"Well, fine," I said, "but why not make you a company commander? Why just a platoon leader?"

He looked sheepish. "Come on, you know I've always been a desk guy. Sure, I read every field report and sit in on every briefing, but it's not the same as actually leading men in combat. Still... I didn't expect to end up in your company. Under your command, no less."

I looked at him, baffled. "You really want this? You're giving up a cushy staff job to come roll around in dirt with me? Miller, how about this—we swap. You take command of the company, and I'll be Major Langford's adjutant."

He laughed. "Only you could say something like that to me with a straight face. But trust me, you wouldn't last a week as an adjutant. You've got the guts for the field, Carter, but I doubt you'd last ten minutes playing yes-man to a guy like Major Langford."

He wasn't wrong. I knew it, too. A guy like me wasn't cut out for staff work. I'd rather dodge bullets than kiss boots. Being an adjutant might sound like being a glorified secretary, but there's truth in the old saying: Being close to power is like sleeping with a tiger. One wrong move, and it's your head on the block.

"Anyway, go inside and get the paperwork sorted," I said. "I'm not about to bring you into my unit without official orders in hand."

"Got it. Wait for me out here!" Miller grinned and turned back toward the command post.

Though Miller hadn't been demoted, the fact that he was being sent to my company made it clear that this was just a temporary assignment. Sooner or later, he'd probably be transferred to another unit as a senior commander. A man with his brains and background wasn't meant to play second fiddle forever. That said, choosing to transfer to a front-line unit right in the thick of battle... well, the timing didn't make much sense.

At least, not until later—when I learned that Miller volunteered for the front because of a French girl. The one we'd seen a few days ago.

He said he wanted to help end the war faster.