{"id":62,"date":"2010-10-07T23:22:26","date_gmt":"2010-10-07T23:22:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/index.php\/2010\/10\/07\/typ\/"},"modified":"2010-10-07T23:22:26","modified_gmt":"2010-10-07T23:22:26","slug":"typ","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/typ\/","title":{"rendered":"The Young Practitioner – PROLOGUE"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

North Africa, November, 1942 – 45km west of Tunis<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"m30-037g\"<\/p>\n

The M4 Sherman tank ground to a halt with a sick sputter from its Continental R975 C1 engine.<\/p>\n

\u201cC\u2019mon baby!\u201d begged Captain Ronald \u201cSnowman\u201d Winters as he caressed the turret of the metal beast from his lookout position atop the war machine.<\/p>\n

The sputtering continued for another thirty seconds or so, then stopped with a metallic grinding. The beast was dead. Again.<\/p>\n

\u201cFUBAR!\u201d drawled a southern voice below the captain from the belly of the beast.<\/p>\n

\u201cJ.T., It\u2019s the second time that damn engine has died in the last hour. Can you fix it or not, sergeant?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAin\u2019t been a machine I couldn\u2019t fix, Snowman. You have yourself a genuine Kansas farm boy here! We kin fix anythin\u2019 that runs!\u201d replied the happy-go-lucky Sergeant, Jonathan \u201cJ.T.\u201d Tompkins. Captain Winters rolled his eyes. Would he ever get used to the eternal optimism of this boy?<\/p>\n

It was over a hundred degrees already and it was only eight o\u2019clock in the morning. The tank had been a part of a larger American First Armored Division racing Eastbound to join Montgomery and the British for a push toward Tunis. The five-man crew had been told to leave their tank when the engine faltered due to the desert sand, but the crew stubbornly refused to give up their home.<\/p>\n

Now they were on their own, at least an hour behind the rest of the convoy.<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn it,\u201d muttered Winters, as he wiped the sweat that poured into his eyes. The General was gonna have his ass and he new it.<\/p>\n

He opened his canteen and took a long swig. The water was hot, but at least it was wet. After Pearl Harbor, he\u2019d known the country was going to be at war. He wanted a shot at the Japanese for what they did in Hawaii. Instead he\u2019d been shipped to North Africa and been put in command of a metal hotbox in the middle of the desert.<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn it all to Hell,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

He sighed and climbed out of his command seat lifting his binoculars to his eyes. He took a quick look around. Nothing but a series of dunes in front of them.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right boys,\u201d he called back into the tank. \u201cMight as well get out of there while the sergeant works his miracle to get us running again.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Captain climbed the rest of the way out and jumped to the ground. A loud scrambling was heard as the two drivers and gunner tried to climb over themselves to reach the hatch first.<\/p>\n

Corporal David Bernstein was first. The Jew from Brooklyn hopped out with ease and practically had his Lucky Strike lit before he reached the ground. Privates Erik Engel from Holland and Frank Wilson from California were next. All boys around the age of eighteen.<\/p>\n

\u201cJ.T., you better get us movin\u2019 again or we\u2019re gonna thump ya,\u201d said the blonde man from Massachusetts.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah!\u201d said Wilson, pounding his fist on the outside of the tank. The man was so big Winters thought he might\u2019ve left a dent in the armor.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich one of you rubes has the radio?\u201d asked the Captain. The three men all looked at each other in a mild panic.<\/p>\n

\u201cEngel, go get it will you? Jesus H. Christ, boy!\u201d<\/p>\n

Winters didn\u2019t like having a foreigner under his command, especially one with such a German<\/i> sounding name, but he was under orders so he dealt with it. By making Private Engel do all the dirty work.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes sir!\u201d said the Private and hopped back into the Sherman without another word.<\/p>\n

\u201cCap\u2019t, can we have him dig a latrine for us when he get\u2019s back?\u201d asked Wilson. \u201cK-ration\u2019s doin\u2019 things to my gut you wouldn\u2019t believe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before he could answer, a sharp pain came from his chest. Both Wilson and Bernstein were staring at him wide-eyed.<\/p>\n

Winters tried to say \u2018what are you two assholes lookin\u2019 at?\u2019 but all that came out was a gurgling sound.<\/p>\n

The last thing the Captain saw was a large red stain on his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cSnipers!\u201d screamed Bernstein in his thick Brooklyn accent. \u201cTake cover behind\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

A red spray flew from the man\u2019s head and a bloody, still lit cigarette bounced off Wilson\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoly Shit!\u201d He said diving to his right just as a ricochet sounded behind him.<\/p>\n

Crawling on the ground, he made his way to the back of the tank. Dirt kicked up around him as sniper fire tracked his movements.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou okay Cap\u2019t?\u201d called Engel from inside the tank.<\/p>\n

\u201cCap\u2019s dead and so\u2019s the Jew!\u201d Wilson screamed back.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere the SOB\u2019s shootin\u2019 from?\u201d Engel called back.<\/p>\n

\u201cHundred yards, behind that dune off to the right I think!\u201d<\/p>\n

Another shot kicked up sand near Wilson\u2019s boot. He drew his legs in close.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo something!\u201d He shouted.<\/p>\n

The big tank shuttered as the turret spun in the direction Wilson had thought the shots had come from.<\/p>\n

There were a couple of clicking sounds, then nothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cDamn you Engel…!\u201d began Wilson.<\/p>\n

The 75mm canon roared and a second or two later there was a muffled explosion. Wilson put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Ten minutes later, Engel and J.T. emerged from their steal foxhole. They found Wilson shaking and lying in the fetal position at the back of the tank. The man had pissed himself.<\/p>\n

There hadn\u2019t been any further shots as far as they knew. Engel had put a couple additional shells into the various dunes just in case.<\/p>\n

While J.T. checked on Wilson, Engel went over to the two bodies lying next to the tank. Captain Winters and Corporal Bernstein were both very dead.<\/p>\n

\u201cJ.T.,\u201d said Engel. \u201cI\u2019ll get on the radio and get us some help. See if you can get Wilson back into the tank.\u201d<\/p>\n

Engel could tell that the good ol\u2019 Southern Boy didn\u2019t like taking orders from him, but technically, as gunner, he outranked him.<\/p>\n

After a fleeting look of annoyance, J.T. nodded and said, \u201cYou got it Erik.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Dutch man radioed in his position and situation. He was told to sit tight. Someone would come for them. Eventually.<\/p>\n

J.T. was tending to a shell-shocked Wilson inside the Sherman. Engel had found the dead Captain\u2019s binoculars and–after wiping off a bit of the late commander\u2019s blood– scoped out the sand dunes ahead.<\/p>\n

He took it as a good sign that he was still breathing. Maybe he\u2019d killed the damn Huns he thought hopefully.<\/p>\n

As he scanned the dunes, his eyes picked up something unusual near where the shells had landed. It looked like metal of some sort imbedded in the dune.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey J.T.,\u201d He called out. \u201cI am going scout up ahead. Take care of Wilson and keep your head down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou too Erik. Put your helmet on!\u201d the Southerner called back.<\/p>\n

Despite the desert heat and with a wary glance at what was left of Bernstein\u2019s head, Engel slapped on his helmet.<\/p>\n

Cautiously and using whatever cover he could find, it took all of twenty minutes for the soldier to make it to the blast crater.<\/p>\n

The dune itself was about twenty feet long and five feet high. When he got closer he saw that it was about five feet deep as well.<\/p>\n

Scattered behind the crater–when he\u2019d finally got enough nerve up to look over the top–he saw what was left of two dead men. It wasn\u2019t until he found half of a German helmet with the stylized eagle on it that he\u2019d confirmed who\u2019d been killed.<\/p>\n

\u201cServes you guys right,\u201d he spat. \u201cDamn Krauts.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took out the glasses again and swept the area. There was nothing else to see.<\/p>\n

With a sigh of relief, he started to make his way back to the Sherman, when he caught sight of the metal piece that had brought him out here in the first place.<\/p>\n

Sticking out of the dune was a heavy plate of lead. It was roughly two feet square and bent from the blast damage where a 75mm shell had dislodged it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the Hell is that?\u201d he mumbled to himself. The sweat was pouring off him like a river and he\u2019d left his canteen back with the remaining members of his crew.<\/p>\n

The impact crater seemed deeper then he\u2019d thought. He stumbled through the sand toward the gaping hole.<\/p>\n

The shell had torn a gash in what looked like a large lead box running the length of the sand dune. Curiosity overriding dehydration, Engel poked his head into the box.<\/p>\n

He recoiled in shock.<\/p>\n

Half running, half stumbling through the sand, he made his way back to the tank.<\/p>\n

J.T. who\u2019d hand enough of the stench inside the Sherman, had poked his head out of the turret hatch. He watched as Engel made a beeline toward him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it Erik? More Nazi\u2019s?\u201d he yelled.<\/p>\n

Engel clamored onto the tank, completely out of breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere, hold on a minute,\u201d said J.T. He reached down into the tank and brought out a canteen.<\/p>\n

Engel gulped down the contents.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus Erik, you\u2019re as white as a ghost,\u201d J.T. said nervously. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy…my shot killed the snipers,\u201d Engel stuttered. \u201cBut it blew a hole in this big metal box.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a body in it,\u201d said Engel, still breathing heavy.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s war, Erik,\u201d said J.T. as he pointed to the late Captain, still lying where he fell. \u201cBodies happen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you don\u2019t understand,\u201d Engel said. \u201cIt looks like a man, but it cannot be. It\u2019d be a man about twenty feet tall!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHeat\u2019s got to you boy,\u201d said J.T. shaking his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome see for yourself,\u201d Engel said, panic now being replaced with annoyance at his crewmember\u2019s disbelief.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, and get shot? No thanks,\u201d said J.T.<\/p>\n

\u201cI killed the Krauts with the first shot. Come see for yourself, or are you-how do you Americans say-chicken?\u201d said Engel.<\/p>\n

The jibe worked. Without another word, J.T. jumped down from the turret and he marched purposely toward the dune. Engel hurried to catch up.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s gotta be fake,\u201d J.T. exclaimed a few minutes later.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not. It is some sort of monster,\u201d Engel said. \u201cAnd it must have been buried here a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow the Hell do you know that?\u201d J.T. said dubiously.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at the bandages,\u201d Engel replied. \u201cIt is like one of the Egyptian mummies I have seen in the movies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it doing out here all by itself?\u201d J.T. asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is not by itself, J.T.\u201d said Engel quietly, pointing. \u201cLook.\u201d<\/p>\n

J.T. stood and looked where Erik had indicated. There were hundreds of mounds exactly the same size and shape of the giant\u2019s tomb.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 North Africa, November, 1942 – 45km west of Tunis The M4 Sherman tank ground to a halt with a sick sputter from its Continental R975 C1 engine. \u201cC\u2019mon […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":61,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-62","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-c41-5mfe"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/62","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=62"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/62\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/61"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=62"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=62"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rbwood.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=62"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}