When We Were Soldiers, chapter 4
The bullets ripped passed him, but he kept going.
Michael wasn't gonna let them kill him. He was on a beach, the shores of Northern France, he thought, and his brother was screaming orders at his comrades. He saw Major Pritchard take a Nazi on and take away his machine gun turret and turn it on the Germans.
While racing for cover every few steps, he thought of Sally. He thought of her blond curls amongst the wailing wounded holding their innards in with both hands, and he thought of her smile and laughter while darting through the barricades as explosions rang off in every inch of the beach.
Suddenly, pain seared through his arms, legs and torso. He fell, tasting the gritty sand, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother staring at him, then his mouth opening and screaming in horror, lunging for him, but two others were holding him back. "Michael!" he yelled, trying to help him. Michael took the time to analyze his wounds, and almost fainted at the sight of his torn and mangled body. Then, Robert was rushing to his side, administering morphine...but it was too late. Michael licked his lips and tasted blood. He coughed...and all was silent as he gave his last breath...
"GERARD!"
Michael started in his sleep, gasping and wide-eyed as he looked around. It was silent, and the stars were twinkling in the black velvet sky as he heard the snores and sleep murmurs of the Fifth and Third company, curled around eachother. One person was awake, and he had his gun in his lap. Silently he turned to Michael and the dying embers of their fire showed the soft hazel in his eyes.
"Shhh, Mikey. You had a bad dream." Gerard then turned back to watching for something, someone, it seemed. He was staring off into the forest around them, waiting for something to appear.
Michael shuddered, then a wave of relief washed over him. It was only a dream. His brother had said so himself...Michael drifted back into the world of dreams and all was silent again.
-----
December 22nd
Aboard the U.S.S Nevada
En route to England
"What a mission!"
It turns out that the Third and Fifth Company were to be assigned everything together. What a stroke of luck for both companies, since they had gotten close over the last mission. To prove this message, they were all hanging out together (sans Captain Way and Major Pritchard, who were receiving briefings from General Armstrong) and enjoying a smoke out on the deck of the massive battleship.
When they had finished their mission, they reported that no motion from the enemy had been reported and that was all. And in Michael's opinion, that was great. It was not long before he and Sally reunited in a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She told him all that had happened, all the soldiers she had seen and taken care of, and he told her his happenings on the battlefield. He left out his dream. He didn't wanna think about it, for it might just come true.
Frances and Ray were sharing 'conquests' of women with Frank, who seemed to have a very jaded opinion towards everything that Ray and Frances had done. It was quite amusing, or so thought Robert, as he was chuckling alongside Joseph in between actual conversation pieces. And Michael, well, he was just content with talking to Sally. There weren't many women around anyhow.
The hatch opened and out stepped General Armstrong in a winter coat, as most of the men had on. All of the soldiers sprang to and saluted him, in which he returned the gesture, flanked by Pritchard and Way.
"Good work soldiers. Your mission has been successful. It seems that the Nazis are occupied with the Russians now. This gives us a chance to analyze an attack plan." He turned to Pritchard and Way, saluted, and departed, but not before looking at Joseph and winking. Joseph blushed and looked at his feet.
Gerard noticed and smirked, walking up to him and ruffling his hair. "You never told anyone your father was the General, did you?" he inquired, and the others let out shouts of awe and shock.
"Wow! His dad's the General?!"
"I don't believe it! Then again, they looked awfully alike."
Joseph muttered something incoherent, and Gerard laughed, turning away from him and gesturing to his company. "You lot, we have work to do. Get a move on." Frances and Ray grumbled, extinguished their cigarettes and trudged inside, followed by Robert and a reluctant Michael, who tipped an imaginary hat at Sally, who giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek, the residue of red lipstick leaving a mark. Even when the hatch was closed, the soldiers could hear Pritchard barking at his company, and they laughed. One look from Gerard silenced them all, however.
"C'mon, we have to practice."
-----
However, where the border of Resistance and Occupation met, a black-clad soldier darted behind his own lines, the fleeting sight of black upon white upon red on his soldier the only thing visible on him.
Many hours later, he made it to the capital of France, Paris. It had been occupied some odd years before, and he made it to a high-ranking officer's station, excusing himself in hurried German and requesting an audience with the Führer himself. The officer cocked an eyebrow at him, then laughed, but gave him his audience. He led him down a series of tunnels into a room where a man in tan was busily talking in German to another. Upon seeing the spy patiently waiting in the doorway, he dismissed the other and motioned for him to enter.
"Erkläre mir, was Sie muß berichten?" The Nazi leader smoothed out his already-slicked black hair and placed a finger to his black toothbrush mustache unconsciously. The soldier pulled out a manila foldier and leafed through it, found what he was looking for and showed it to Hitler. He scanned it quickly, then turned to the spy with a grin.
"Sie haben gut getan. Sehr gut tatsächlich." He ran back over the information again, then dismissed the officer. "Gehen Sie zu Vorscht. Er gibt Ihnen Ihre folgende Aufgabe." The spy nodded.
"Ja, mein Führer."
Michael wasn't gonna let them kill him. He was on a beach, the shores of Northern France, he thought, and his brother was screaming orders at his comrades. He saw Major Pritchard take a Nazi on and take away his machine gun turret and turn it on the Germans.
While racing for cover every few steps, he thought of Sally. He thought of her blond curls amongst the wailing wounded holding their innards in with both hands, and he thought of her smile and laughter while darting through the barricades as explosions rang off in every inch of the beach.
Suddenly, pain seared through his arms, legs and torso. He fell, tasting the gritty sand, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother staring at him, then his mouth opening and screaming in horror, lunging for him, but two others were holding him back. "Michael!" he yelled, trying to help him. Michael took the time to analyze his wounds, and almost fainted at the sight of his torn and mangled body. Then, Robert was rushing to his side, administering morphine...but it was too late. Michael licked his lips and tasted blood. He coughed...and all was silent as he gave his last breath...
"GERARD!"
Michael started in his sleep, gasping and wide-eyed as he looked around. It was silent, and the stars were twinkling in the black velvet sky as he heard the snores and sleep murmurs of the Fifth and Third company, curled around eachother. One person was awake, and he had his gun in his lap. Silently he turned to Michael and the dying embers of their fire showed the soft hazel in his eyes.
"Shhh, Mikey. You had a bad dream." Gerard then turned back to watching for something, someone, it seemed. He was staring off into the forest around them, waiting for something to appear.
Michael shuddered, then a wave of relief washed over him. It was only a dream. His brother had said so himself...Michael drifted back into the world of dreams and all was silent again.
-----
December 22nd
Aboard the U.S.S Nevada
En route to England
"What a mission!"
It turns out that the Third and Fifth Company were to be assigned everything together. What a stroke of luck for both companies, since they had gotten close over the last mission. To prove this message, they were all hanging out together (sans Captain Way and Major Pritchard, who were receiving briefings from General Armstrong) and enjoying a smoke out on the deck of the massive battleship.
When they had finished their mission, they reported that no motion from the enemy had been reported and that was all. And in Michael's opinion, that was great. It was not long before he and Sally reunited in a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She told him all that had happened, all the soldiers she had seen and taken care of, and he told her his happenings on the battlefield. He left out his dream. He didn't wanna think about it, for it might just come true.
Frances and Ray were sharing 'conquests' of women with Frank, who seemed to have a very jaded opinion towards everything that Ray and Frances had done. It was quite amusing, or so thought Robert, as he was chuckling alongside Joseph in between actual conversation pieces. And Michael, well, he was just content with talking to Sally. There weren't many women around anyhow.
The hatch opened and out stepped General Armstrong in a winter coat, as most of the men had on. All of the soldiers sprang to and saluted him, in which he returned the gesture, flanked by Pritchard and Way.
"Good work soldiers. Your mission has been successful. It seems that the Nazis are occupied with the Russians now. This gives us a chance to analyze an attack plan." He turned to Pritchard and Way, saluted, and departed, but not before looking at Joseph and winking. Joseph blushed and looked at his feet.
Gerard noticed and smirked, walking up to him and ruffling his hair. "You never told anyone your father was the General, did you?" he inquired, and the others let out shouts of awe and shock.
"Wow! His dad's the General?!"
"I don't believe it! Then again, they looked awfully alike."
Joseph muttered something incoherent, and Gerard laughed, turning away from him and gesturing to his company. "You lot, we have work to do. Get a move on." Frances and Ray grumbled, extinguished their cigarettes and trudged inside, followed by Robert and a reluctant Michael, who tipped an imaginary hat at Sally, who giggled and planted a kiss on his cheek, the residue of red lipstick leaving a mark. Even when the hatch was closed, the soldiers could hear Pritchard barking at his company, and they laughed. One look from Gerard silenced them all, however.
"C'mon, we have to practice."
-----
However, where the border of Resistance and Occupation met, a black-clad soldier darted behind his own lines, the fleeting sight of black upon white upon red on his soldier the only thing visible on him.
Many hours later, he made it to the capital of France, Paris. It had been occupied some odd years before, and he made it to a high-ranking officer's station, excusing himself in hurried German and requesting an audience with the Führer himself. The officer cocked an eyebrow at him, then laughed, but gave him his audience. He led him down a series of tunnels into a room where a man in tan was busily talking in German to another. Upon seeing the spy patiently waiting in the doorway, he dismissed the other and motioned for him to enter.
"Erkläre mir, was Sie muß berichten?" The Nazi leader smoothed out his already-slicked black hair and placed a finger to his black toothbrush mustache unconsciously. The soldier pulled out a manila foldier and leafed through it, found what he was looking for and showed it to Hitler. He scanned it quickly, then turned to the spy with a grin.
"Sie haben gut getan. Sehr gut tatsächlich." He ran back over the information again, then dismissed the officer. "Gehen Sie zu Vorscht. Er gibt Ihnen Ihre folgende Aufgabe." The spy nodded.
"Ja, mein Führer."
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