A World War Two story in progress

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A World War Two story in progress

Post  TechnoNazi on Thu Oct 30, 2008 9:17 pm

I'll probably upload all the part of Ralgrok for the 'fans' later, but first I'd like to share a bit of my new story. My grandpa was one of those killed on D-Day, so this was dedicated to him. It's a story in progress, but I'm pleased with the results.

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The crude metal box that was a Higgins boat tilted and rocked harshly as it trugged along in the choppy waters. The men around me had either been vommiting the entire way, or shaking to a point where I almost was sure they'd commit suicide. One man already had. I myself was shaking, though not as violently. More like when you step out of the shower, not completely dried off.

I shifted my rifle a bit higher on my shoulder as the yell rang out. The first words I had heard all day.

"30 seconds!"

I checked to make sure my gear was in order, and said a quick prayer. I had not been raised a christian, but my friends who were said that sometimes would help to calm you down, if need be. Though I soon started shaking again, and for one new reason. Artillery.

The massive explosions seemed to be everywhere, those nearby made the boat tilt even more, and a soft mist wet everyone's uniform. Nearby, I heard the whislt of the artillery. I expected another splash, though was startled by the loud cracking noise. It had hit the boat to the left. Blood and body parts had gone flying everywhere. One man found himself holding an arm, he quickly doubled over and vommited.

"10 seconds!"

I grabbed my rifle and got ready to charge forward. I then received my orders.

"Alright men, move fast and stay behind the cover of craters or wreckage. Hustle, and you just might make it to the sea wall alive. No grouping up, I do not want to lose entire squads from a single mortar shell! Remember, move fast and stay covered. God be with you. I'll see you on the beach!"

And with that, the boat had stopped, and the captain kicked down the metal ramp. With a thud, it splached into the water.

Almost immediately, men around me were shot. I dare not charge forward, else I be one to join the dead. If I were to die, it would not be in the cold, hard Higgins boat. Instead, I shuffled to my right, ducking behind a leaning corpse. When the machine gun fire had moved to another position, I arose and leaped over the side. Something hard hit my left leg. Thinking I had knocked my knee on the side of the boat, I continued onward, slowly.

After a few moments I set foot on the hell that was Omaha beach. Here, even more corpses dotted the landscape. I continued forward, heading towards a crater. The machine gun firse was upon my position again. Frightened, my foot struck a corpse. I hopped to try to keep my balance, but tumbled over in a tangled heap. I was sure I would be dead then and there.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed the collar of my uniform, and yanked me up. I had not the chance to see the man's face, as he quickly continued onward, disappearing in a cloud of smoke made by the artillery...and mines.

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This is roughly half of the first chapter. I will take all comments or criticisms. Thanks!
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TechnoNazi
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Re: A World War Two story in progress

Post  RussianMan on Thu Oct 30, 2008 10:19 pm

Excellent! Definetly better than I, or a lot of other people could possibly write.


My grandfather was a survivor on Omaha Beach. He later died in Carentan.
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Re: A World War Two story in progress

Post  TechnoNazi on Mon Nov 17, 2008 5:40 am

Yeah. I suppose it would suck to survive D-Day, in a way. I mean, having to remember it...if they can Very Happy.

Anywho...
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Not long after a medic crawled up to me. Blood soiled most of hi uniform, as did mine. Unlike myself, he carried no weapon, but donned a leather satchel in which he carried supplies.

"You ok?" he asked, looking at my leg. I nodded, and also decided to look. Only then did I realize I had been shot. ((Continue the rest later, late for work... Embarassed ))
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Re: A World War Two story in progress

Post  TechnoNazi on Tue Nov 18, 2008 2:00 pm

What I thought had been a simple injury - hitting my leg against the side of the boat- turned out to be a piece of shrapnel protruding from my shin. Andrew Farstow - The medic, we call him 'Doc'- said I was lucky, any lower and it could have cut the main artery. Doc removed the shrapnel shard with a pair of nail clippers - Supplies were low, even for medics - and wrapped the small hole with a piece of his shirt, tieing it tight, he readied the morphine.

"No, save the morphine, Doc, I can make it."
Doc said nothing and nodded, then maneuvered away to tend to the wounded.
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