The Commandos - Prologue

COMMANDOS Set Europe Ablaze Book 1

COLONEL RICHARD D. CAMP

Philadelphia & Oxford

Published in the United States of America and Great Britain in 2021 by CASEMATE PUBLISHERS 1950 Lawrence Road, Havertown, PA 19083, US and The Old Music Hall, 106–108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JE, UK Copyright 2021 © Colonel Richard D. Camp Paperback Edition: ISBN 978-1-63624-008-4 Digital Edition: ISBN 978-1-63624-009-1 A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission from the publisher in writing.

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“And now set Europe ablaze.”

Winston Churchill

Prologue Live Fire Exercise, Camp Pendleton, California, 10 June 1942—Machine-gun fire erupted from the edge of the treeline, shattering the morning stillness. Copper-jacketed .30-caliber slugs blanketed the fighting positions on the small, brush-covered knoll.

A dozen riflemen stepped out from the treeline and converged on the hillock, ignoring the storm of fire that passed directly in front of their formation. A squat, broad-shouldered lieutenant wearing sweat-stained utilities and a helmet with a white band around the base followed anxiously behind them. “Stay on line,” he shouted nervously, the dangerous crack of bullets focusing his attention. He was keenly aware that one mistake could get someone killed. A scant 10 yards from the bullet strikes, he tossed a smoke grenade, which quickly blossomed into a brilliant green cloud from the fist-sized canister. The smoke signaled a cease-fire to the machine gunners in the treeline. Under the lieutenant’s tight control, the line of riflemen marched across the knoll, shooting into the fighting positions as they passed by. Suddenly, the piercing blast of a whistle penetrated the crackle of gunfire. “Cease-fire! Cease-fire!” the lieutenant shouted. A tall, slender officer in a sage-green herringbone twill field uniform stepped out of the treeline and strode purposefully toward the younger man.

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“Good work, lieutenant,” Marine Captain Jim Cain declared, congratulating the young platoon commander on the successful assault of the simulated enemy position. He was pleased. This was the first platoon from his company to have gone through the live fire exercise since he had taken command. While the tactical elements of the problem were relatively uncomplicated—two rifle squads and the machine-gun section served as a base of fire, while the remaining squad enveloped from the right flank—the devil was in the detail.

The base of fire had to ensure they did not shoot the enveloping force; the green smoke, the cease-fire signal, had to be timed perfectly; and finally, the assault force had to maintain a straight formation or risk getting shot if a man got ahead or fell behind.

Cain had been watching the “canned” tactical problem from an observation tower. The newly joined second lieutenant had maintained good control over his 40-man platoon, and the young Marines, who for the most part were just out of boot camp, handled the exercise like veterans. As the platoon assembled for the “hot wash-up,” Cain’s senior staff non-commissioned officer, Gunnery Sergeant Leland Montgomery—a first sergeant had not been assigned—handed him a message: Report to the battalion commander as soon as possible.

“Can’t it wait until after the debrief?” he asked Montgomery.

“No, sir, the colonel said he wanted both of us in his office most ricky-tick.”

Thirty minutes later, the battalion adjutant ushered them through the saloon-style swinging doors into Major “Red Mike” Edson’s office. The “old man,” the traditional moniker for a Marine commander regardless of age, had the doors installed because he said they reminded him of all the slop shoots he had been thrown out of in his younger days. The major was sitting behind a battered government-issued wooden desk in the center of the room, backdropped by the battalion colors and the national ensign that stood in a wooden bracket. The two flags were angled so they

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crossed one another, with the national ensign on top of the overlap.

A large plaque bearing painted skull and crossbones, the Raider Battalion’s crest, was affixed to the wall between the two flags.

“Sit,” the colonel ordered. He was not one for small talk. “I just received these orders from headquarters. Read them and then we’ll talk.” He passed the message flimsy to Cain. Montgomery looked over his shoulder.

From: Commandant of the Marine Corps To: Captain James M. Cain 027192 USMC Gunnery Sergeant Leland F. Montgomery 1992845 USMC Subj: Reassignment and Temporary Additional Duty Ref: (a) Marine Corps Special Order 10-77 of 1 July 42 1. In accordance with reference (a), on or about 5 July 1942, you will stand detached from your present duty station and proceed and report to the commanding officer Commando Basic Training Centre at Achnacarry, Scotland for a period of instruction not to exceed 10 weeks. You are to report no later than 10 August 1942.

2. You are to proceed to the Port of Embarkation, Norfolk Naval Base, for operational government transportation to the Port of Southampton, Great Britain and subsequent civilian rail transportation to Achnacarry, Scotland.

3. Your Officer Qualification Record, Enlisted Personnel Record, Pay, Health, and Dental Records are entrusted to your care for safe delivery to your new command.

T. Holcomb Lieutenant General Commandant

Cain’s mouth dropped open. “Colonel, there must be some mistake,” he pleaded. “I just took over the company and I need to get it ready for deployment.”

Edson fixed the young officer with a piercing stare that could only be described as icy. “Captain, are you presuming that the commandant doesn’t know what he’s doing?”

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Oh no, Montgomery thought, now the skipper’s in for it. Cain swallowed the lump in his throat and finally found his voice. “No, sir, I merely thought that I needed more time to bring the company up to your high standards.”

Montgomery inwardly cringed, waiting for the explosion. The old man was known for blow-torching anyone who tried to butter him up.

And it was not long in coming. The old man leaned over his desk and pointed his heavily callused finger at the younger officer. “Cain,” he said threateningly, “you are the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever seen,” and then he broke out in a loud guffaw.

Montgomery couldn’t believe it. He had served with the colonel for several years and had never seen him smile. In fact, there was an ongoing bet among the staff non-commissioned officers in the battalion that anything other than a scowl would crack the old man’s face! To add to the gunny’s amazement, the colonel’s whole demeanor softened into something resembling a human being instead of the lean, mean, fighting machine that he usually always projected.

“You two,” he said, “are the best company commander and the best gunnery sergeant in the battalion, and I can’t spare either of you … but, the commando school is so important that I decided to let you go.” He paused and looked intensely at the two men. The two were in sharp contrast; Cain had a round face, deep-set blue eyes, and an easy smile that were in marked contrast to Montgomery’s hawk-like, deeply creased face, and hard, cement-colored eyes that scared the shit out of any wrongdoer that crossed his path.

Physically, they could not have been more different—the officer’s muscular 6-foot frame was in sharp contrast to the SNCO’s wiry physique—but there the differences ended. They were professionals in every sense of the word; aggressive, strong-willed, and totally dedicated, with a deep respect for the other’s capabilities. Those

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traits had enabled them to work together in building the best-trained company in the battalion.

“I’m depending on you and this poor excuse for a SNCO to come back and share what you’ve learned,” the old man continued. “Now, get the hell out of my office and execute your orders!”

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