"I LOVE mass hallucinations. "
-.Praetor
|
| Maybe... (My first and last Fanfic ;o) | | | Author: | | | IP: | 65.167.4XXXX | | Date: | 08/25/03 10:08 | | Game Type: | Starcraft | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 5, Min: 5
Lifetime Rating for BlueRiBBon: 7.4348 |  |
Maybe...
No I am not a report machine. No this is not a Starcraft Report. No my next report will not be out soon, I haven't even picked a game ;}.
...This is a FanFic about World War II. Anything you read in this story didn't really happen. The battle of Sainte-Lo did happen around this time but not exactly at this time. I researched the topic and couldn't really find an exact date of the beginning or the end. So the date is an assumption. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. I tryed to add a few things so you know what the shit I'm talking about. I'm a buff at the subject of the Second World War so if I say anything that I didn't explain well enough to you, just ask me in the comment and I'll explain it to you :P.
July, 10th, 1944 Somewhere in France…
“Captain, where are we going anyways? We’ve been walking for almost a day…”
“I’ll tell you when we get there, Johnson.” Remarked the Captain.
“I love this country. It’s so beautiful… You know except the parts we already bombed the shit out of.” Chuckled Johnson.
“Johnson, keep your mouth shut. No one wants to hear you.” Remarked Sergeant Freeman.
“Yes sir.”
...As we walked it became more obvious how many there were with us. The men passed out of the shaded woods to reveal just how well they kept formation. They were scattered about whispering to each other totally ignoring their orders.
“Get the fuck back in formation!” yelled the Sergeant. The men immediately jumped back in formation.
...The Captain, Marshall Vance, was up ahead leading the way like he always did. He was a brave soldier. He was the one that actually kept us brave ourselves. It was like it wore off on us. He was from Charleston, South Carolina, so naturally he had a heavy accent.
...The Sergeant was a big guy, big enough to rip all of us a new asshole all at the same time so, no one ever usually even messed around with him. His name was David Freeman, and he was from Brooklyn, N.Y.
...Quickly the Captain’s hand flew up in a fist, meaning to stop everything, take a knee, and shut up. He removed his binoculars from his belt and took a peak down the road. He was looking into the trees that started up ahead again. Maybe he just saw an animal jump? Maybe he saw some Krauts, but we all knew he would say something before he let the Krauts get the jump on us. He always did. Always.
“Sergeant, take a look do you see anything?” said the Captain tossing the Sergeant his binoculars.
 “Not a damn thing….” He replied as he picked up his Carbine of his knee. Almost all Sergeants carried Carbines. Strange to think a guy in Prison made the first one out of his bed and things he got from trading with the guards. The rifle had a ten-bullet clip with no bolt action, so you could just fire rapidly so long as you could pull the trigger fast enough.  The Captain on the other hand carried a Tompson’s Sub-Machine gun. Commonly referred to as the Tommy gun. Unlike the mob associated weapon this didn’t have a drum clip or a handle protruding after the clip to place your hand.
...Other soldiers, Corporals, Privates, people like me, the peons of the group carried Garand M1’s. They were decent guns, although they jammed a lot. An Eight-bullet magazine and no cocking action after shots, not like the British Enfield’s and German K-98’s, which were bolt-action.
“Strange, I thought I saw it, …” he said at last.
“Saw what Captain?” asked the Sergeant.
“Krauts…” He obviously had no love for German’s; he always referred to them as “its”.
“All right. On you feet.” He made a fist turned to us and moved his arm up and down two times (meaning lets move).
...I don’t think any of us missed it. He was just turning back around when a barrage of bullets hit him in the side. He fell down in an instant, obviously dead.
“FUCK EVERYBODY DOWN!” yelled the Sergeant. Johnson stood around wondering what the hell happened to the Captain. Maybe I was wrong, not all of us saw it.
“Get down Johnson!” I yelled fast. The Sergeant grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down.
“Anyone see where it came from?” yelled the Sergeant.
“1 o’clock Sarg!” came a voice from behind me. As I turned around I was not quite sure that we were still a company. I was surprised most of us happened ran off when the Captain was shot, being the cowards that we were. I guess being dead is better then being in the Stockade for fifteen year with solitude confinement however.
“Was it rifle fire?” asked a Soldier next to the Sergeant.
“The pitch was too high… must have been an MG34, or MG42…”
...
I took a sip from my canteen. MG42’s were the most vicious gun in the war. MG34’s weren’t much better, but I’d rather fight one of those then the afore mentioned.
“Sniper!” yelled Freeman.
...A man came up behind me with a M1903 Springfield Sniper Rifle. A very accurate gun but was bolt action. I’d have to say I’m biased toward not having to take one-two seconds in-between firing shots, not to mention reload times, plus you lose your aim when cocking it.
“I want you to peak up over this rock and see if you can locate and pick off the gunner. Do you understand?”
“Sir yes sir.” Replied the sniper.
...Hmmm, I had a thought about then. Strangely enough the only guy who held our company together was dead, and yet we were still functioning. Weird how suddenly the whole group now turns to Sergeant Freeman for support and bravery now that the Captain is dead. When the Sergeant slouched down he caught me staring at him. I quickly stopped and looked at the dead Captain again. The guy was a hero only a few days ago when he landed at Omaha, and now he’s dead. Funny how fast things change?
“I don’t have a shot Sarg. Hell I can’t even see the Machine gun. Maybe the picked up and moved back after they shot him...” said the sniper slouching down.
“We can’t take that risk… We pick up and start to move again, were all going to get torn up.” He remarked.
I suddenly had a strange feeling; feeling like the ground was shaking…
“Sergeant, there isn’t many earthquakes in France so why is the ground shaking…?” I said quietly. Everyone grew amazingly quiet. A lot of the guys put there ears to the ground.
“Tanks!” BRING UP THE BAZOOKA SQUADS!” yelled the Sergeant fast.
“But Sarg if they are wheeling in Tiger’s using Bazooka’s will be like shooting spit-wads at them.” I said.
“We’ve got no other choice Private. The orders the Captain received were to reach Sainte Lo. Sainte Lo is a mile due south of here, and that’s the direction they are blocking us from. We’ve got to get around them.”
“Around them I can see but Sir, this is THROUGH them.” I said in detest.
“Bazooka Squad’s let’s move!” he persisted.
“Corporal Smith (that’s me by the way,) I want you to take third platoon and move around into the trees to the left and try to find some decent cover. Take second and third bazooka squads and put some fire on those Tanks from there rear. Its our best chance… We’ll try to draw them off here. Good luck... Get ready for company boys!” he said as he grabbed his rifle and started aiming it toward where the sound was coming from.
“Third platoon… Stay on my ass and we’ll grab some cover to our left.”
We started to move out and across some damp wooded area, when we finally came across a clump of trees.
“Second and Third ba-zook squads sit tight here and put some fire on the flank of those tanks when they show it. Third Platoon get back on my ass, we’ll flank these bastards.”
...We moved up to our north until we were right almost right along side of the tanks. That’s when we realized it was more than we could handle. The Germans were obviously organizing a counter-attack toward Normandy from north Sainte-Lo. The whole 3rd Panzer division was moving North, and at least two hundred infantry. Our Company is only eighty-three men, and I’ve got 21 of them with me. The Sergeant has no idea what he’s waiting for his men to fall into.
“Alright guys,” I whispered, “There is at least 20 Panzers starting to move up this road and a chunk of infantry that’s times three what our Company is. There is only about sixty of our guys back with the Sergeant and the rest of you are with me. If we let the German’s sweep through up into the Caen camp unchecked they’ll surprise the Allies and probably drive them back. So we have two choices. We keep going south and link up with some other Allied troops at Sainte-Lo, or we send a runner back, and the rest of engage the Germans.” I sighed kind of loud knowing what that meant… “If we go with option two… We probably won’t live.”
Johnson was with me… “Alright. Lets do it. I won’t let the Kraut's kill our friends.”
“That’s good…” I remarked, “I was staying without anyone if necessary…”
The rest of the guys slowly nodded. It was obvious no one wanted to do it. But it was obvious it needed to be done.
...That day my mindset of my Company changed. I realized they weren’t there cowards that I thought they were… Maybe you shouldn’t judge people. The reason I thought of them as cowards was because, as I said our platoon was eighty-three. Originally it was 152. I knew the guys that died. I watched the guys that lay down in trenches covering their heads with their hands trying to stay out of bullets path. But today I realized their conscience was hurting just like mine because, I was one of the guys lying in the trenches too. We waited until a Private who we designated as the runner was out of sight.
I came to terms with what needed to be done, and did it. I uttered the words that I was waiting to say, waiting… “Fire at will!”
…
~A BlueRiBBon Battlereport~
|
|
|
|
|
|
Home
Forum
Starcraft Tournaments
